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American  Dramatists  Series 

TWO    PLAYS 

NOTHING  ELSE  TO  DO— CAUGHT 

BY 

MORRIS  M.  TOWNLEY 


BOSTON :  THE  GORHAM  PRESS 

TORONTO:      THE    COPP   CLARK   CO.,   LIMITED 


Copyright,   1916,   by   Morris   M.    Townley 


All    Rights    Reserved 


The  Gorham  Press,  Boston,  U.  S.  A. 


"TO  E.  V.  T." 


3435 


CONTENTS 

Nothing  Else  to  Do ll 

Caught    7i 


NOTHING  ELSE  TO  DO 
A  Play  in  Three  Acts 


CAST 

The  Governor. 

MaRJORIE — HIS  DAUGHTER. 

Jane — his  sister. 

Bob  Allen — U.  S.  District  Attorney. 

Count  Orsini. 

Joe  Hopper — secret  service. 

Theresa  Lugioni. 

Arrazo. 

Jenkins. 

Policemen. 


Nothing  Else  To  Do 

ACT  I 

Library  of  the  Governor  s  residence.  Evening. 
Present,  the  Governor  and  Jane.  The  Governor  is 
in  an  easy  chair  under  the  table  lamp.  He  is  reading 
the  evening  paper.  Jane  sits  on  the  opposite  side  of 
the  table  reading  a  book.  The  Governor  puts  aside 
the  paper  and  breaks  the  silence. 

Governor — (With  a  sigh  of  relief.)  You  don't 
know  how  good  it  seems  to  be  spending  a  quiet  even- 
ing at  home — with  no  politics  and  no  politicians. 

Jane — You  have  had  a  hard  time  of  it,  John. 
And  to  think  that  the  people,  who  most  approve  the 
things  which  you  have  accomplished,  are  unable  to 
vote  for  your  re-election. 

Governor — One  of  your  witticisms,  Jane? 

Jane — Not  at  all.  Don't  you  know  that  it's  the 
women  who  most  appreciate  your  having  reduced  the 
price  of  gas  and  water  and  such  things? 

Governor — Do  you  think  so — now  I  never 
thought  of  that. 

Jane — Doubtless  you  would  have  thought  of  it, 
if  the  women  voted  for  governor. 

Governor — Yes — no  doubt — no  doubt — too  bad 
II 


12  NOTHING  ELSE  TO  DO 

they  don't.  You  know  you've  reformed  me  on  that 
subject.  I  don't  know  whether  it's  because  you've 
convinced  me  as  a  matter  of  principle,  or  whether 
it's  because  you  always  tell  me  the  women  are 
unanimous  in  approving  my  policies.  You  ought 
to  be  in  politics  yourself,  Jane. 

Jane — Perhaps  I  shall  be  some  day. — And  prob- 
ably your  daughter  will  be,  even  if  I  am  not. 

Governor — Why  do  you  say  that  ? 

Jane — First,  because  she's  her  father's  daughter, 
and  second,  because  she  is  a  product  of  the  new 
womanhood. 

Governor — I  understand  you've  been  making  a 
new  woman  of  her.  We'll  see  what  comes  of  it. 
By  the  by — where  is  Marjorie  now? 

Jane — She  will  be  down  presently.  She  is  dress- 
ing for  the  theatre. 

Governor — With  whom  is  she  going? 

Jane — Count  Orsini. 

Governor — She  sees  too  much  of  that  chap,  I 
think. 

Jane — Why  do  you  dislike  him? 

Governor — Prejudice  possibly.  I  confess  I  know 
very  little  against  him.  But  I  would  much  rather 
that  Marjorie  saw  more  of  Bob  Allen,  and  less 
of  this  Count  Orsini. 

Jane — I  fear  that  you  are  not  proceeding  very 
skilfully  to  bring  about  that  result. 


ACT  I  13 

Governor — What  do  you  mean? 

Jane — You  show  too  plainly  to  Marjorie  your 
preference  for  Bob.  You  know  that  sort  of  thing 
is  apt  to  do  Bob  more  harm  than  good. 

Governor — Perhaps  you're  right.  What  would 
you  advise? 

Jane — If  you  wish  Marjorie  to  care  for  Bob, 
why  don't  you  allow  her  to  become  interested  in 
the  things  in  which  he  is  interested? 

Governor — What  do  you  mean? 

Jane — Just  this — Bob,  like  yourself,  is  a  lawyer 
with  political  tastes.  Marjorie,  as  you  know, 
is  possessed  with  the  desire  to  study  law,  and  to 
take  an  interest  in  public  affairs.  If  you  would 
allow  her  to  do  as  she  wishes,  I  think  she  would 
have  much  more  reason  to  be  interested  in  Bob,  and 
much  less  time  to  be  interested  in  Count  Orsini. 

Governor — I  don't  follow  you  there.  And  be- 
sides, you  know  that  I  am  opposed  to  Marjorie's 
studying  law. 

Jane — Why? 

Governor — I  suppose  I  haven't  any  good  reasons 
as  far  as  my  personal  views  go.  But  as  long  as  I  am 
governor,  I  have  to  take  account  of  public  opinion, 
and  you  know  the  public  opinion  of  this  State  is 
very  conservative,  particularly  where  women  are 
concerned. 

Jane — John,  you  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  your- 


i4  NOTHING  ELSE  TO  DO 

self.  It  is  past  my  understanding  that  a  man  who 
has  the  fine  courage  to  advocate  some  of  your  legisla- 
tion should  be  afraid  to  conduct  his  own  household 
according  to  his  own  convictions. 

Governor — It  isn't  as  bad  as  all  that,  Jane. 

Jane — It's  worse  than  that.  The  fact  is  that  you 
are  sacrificing  Marjorie's  wishes,  and  perhaps  her 
future  happiness,  simply  to  save  yourself  the  annoy- 
ance of  being  unjustly  criticized. 

Governor — It's  most  uncomfortable  to  argue 
with  you,  Jane.  You  always  seem  to  have  the  best 
of  it. 

(Marjorie  enters.) 

Marjorie — Talking   about   me — you   two? 

Governor — Yes — you  caught  us  in  the  act. 

Marjorie — Confessed  criminals. 

Governor — What  shall  be  our  punishment? 

Marjorie — This.     (She  kisses  him.) 

Governor — Too  light  to  fit  the  crime.  How 
charming  you  look! 

Marjorie — Do  you  like  my  dress? 

Governor — Wonderful — I  only  regret  that  you 
are  wearing  it  for  a  younger  admirer. 

Marjorie — What  an  old  flirt  you  are!  How  I 
should  like  to  have  known  you  when  you  were 
twenty-five ! 

Jane — You  may  be  sure  that  he  was  quite  a  beau 
in  those  days. 


ACT  I  15 

Marjorie — I've  no  doubt  of  it.  Probably  his 
youth  was  a  trail  of  broken  hearts.  Wasn't  it, 
Daddy? 

(Enter  Jenkins.) 

Jenkins — Mr.  Allen  is  calling. 

Marjorie — Ask  him  to  come  in. 

(Exit  Jenkins.) 

Governor — I'll  leave  him  to  you,  Marjorie.  I 
have  some  work  in  the  study.  Tell  him  I'd  like  to 
see  him  before  he  goes. 

(Exit  the  Governor.) 

(A  moment  later  enter  Bob  Allen.) 

Bob — Good  evening,  Miss  Burton,  how  are  you? 
Hello,  Marjorie — all  dressed  up,  aren't  you?  Must 
be  going  somewhere. 

Marjorie — Yes,  I'm  going  to  the  theatre. 

Bob — I'm  sorry. 

Marjorie — So  am  I. 

Bob — I'll  have  to  console  myself  talking  politics 
to  the  Governor. 

Marjorie — (Smiling.)  You'd  rather  do  that 
anyway,  Bob. 

Bob — You  know  better  than  that.  But  I  will  say 
that  politics  is  mighty  interesting  these  days.  Re- 
election promises  all  sorts  of  excitement. 

Jane — If  you  two  are  going  to  talk  politics,  I'll 
take  my  book  to  the  Governor's  study.  I've  heard 
so  much  of  it  lately  that  I  positively  can't  stand 


16  NOTHING  ELSE  TO  DO 

another  word.  By  the  way,  Bob,  the  Governor 
wants  to  see  you  before  you  go. 

Bob — Tell  him  I'll  be  in  to  see  him  presently. 

{Jane  goes.) 

Marjorie — Dad's  going  to  win,  isn't  he? 

Bob — Of  course  he  is — but  it's  going  to  be  a 
bitter  fight — particularly  with  Public  Utilities  in 
the  opposition. 

Marjorie — Has  the  Company  so  much  power? 

Bob — Quite  a  bit — you  see  they  own  practically 
all  of  the  water  and  gas  and  power  plants  in  the 
State.  And  you  may  be  sure  that  they  are  going  to 
use  all  of  the  power  they  have  to  prevent  your  Dad 
from  being  re-elected. 

Marjorie — Why  are  they  so  bitter  against  him? 

Bob — Don't  you  remember  that  his  pet  legislation 
reduced  their  rates  and  cut  down  their  dividends? 
Let's  talk  of  something  else. 

Marjorie — Very  well — anything  you  like. 

Bob — Then  we  will  talk  of  you.  So  you  are 
going  to  the  theatre  tonight? 

Marjorie — Yes. 

Bob — May  I  ask  with  whom  ? 

Marjorie — Orsini. 

Bob — {Smiling.)     My  deadly  rival? 

Marjorie — Wasn't  it  Balzac  who  said  that  the 
pretense  of  jealousy  was  the  most  subtle  form  of 
flattery? 


ACT  I  17 

Bob — But  you  see  I  am  really  jealous. 

Marjorie — Are  you? 

Bob — Dreadfully. 

Marjorie — You  don't  seem  very  mournful  over 
ft. 

Bob — That  would  be  so  unbecoming. 

Marjorie — I  like  you  for  that,  Bob.  I  never 
saw  you  otherwise  than  good  humored.  I  think  you 
would  be  cheerful  in  heaven. 

Bob — I  fear  I  shall  never  be  put  to  that  test — 
particularly  when  the  only  angel  I  know  refuses  me. 

Marjorie — Of  course  you  mean  me? 

Bob — Naturally. 

Marjorie — But  I  haven't. 

Bob — You  did. 

Marjorie — Temporarily. 

Bob — Then — 

Marjorie — Until  I  prove  myself  worthy  of  you. 

Bob — Worthy — how  foolish. 

Marjorie — It  is  not  foolish.  You  know  very 
well  that  what  I  most  want  is  to  study  law  and 
prepare  myself  to  do  something  worth  while.  When 
I  have  accomplished  that,  perhaps  I  may  be  worthy 
of  you. 

Bob — Well,  Marjorie,  when  are  you  going  to 
begin  to  make  yourself  worthy  of  me? 

Marjorie — I'd  begin  tomorrow,  if  Daddy  would 
let  me.    Why  don't  you  talk  to  him,  Bob?    Perhaps 


1 8  NOTHING  ELSE  TO  DO 

he'd  consent  if  you  asked  him  to. 

Bob — I'll  talk  to  him,  if  you  like — but  you  know 
the  Governor  has  a  mind  of  his  own. 

Marjorie — Yes,  but  he  thinks  so  much  of  you, 
and  now  that  you're  the  United  States  District 
Attorney,  he  has  no  end  of  respect  for  your  opinion. 
And  shall  I  tell  you  something  else? 

Bob — Yes. 

Marjorie — He's  dying  for  you  to  marry  me. 

Bob — Do  you  mean  it,  Marjorie? 

Marjorie — Of  course  I  do — but  I  wont — until 

Bob — Until — 

Marjorie — Until  I  prove  myself  worthy  of  you 
— Here  comes  Daddy  now. 

(  The  Governor  enters.) 

Governor — Hello,  Bob — I'm  so  glad  you're  here. 
I've  something  to  show  you. 

Bob — What  is  it? 

Governor — A  letter  which  just  came  by  special 
delivery. 

Bob — Who  from? 

Governor — I  don't  know.     It's  anonymous. 

Marjorie — How  exciting! 

Bob — What  sort? 

Governor — Downright  commanding  sort.  Tells 
me  to  get  out  of  the  race  for  re-election  or  some- 
body will  expose  the  secrets  of  my  past  life. 

Marjorie — Disgusting ! 


ACT  I  19 

Governor — {Producing  letter.)  Look  it  over, 
Bob,  and  see  what  you  make  of  it. 

Marjorie — May  I  look,  Daddy? 

Governor — Of  course. 

{Bob  and  Marjorie  examine  letter.) 

Governor — Who  do  you  suppose  would  write 
that  sort  of  thing? 

Bob — Some  of  the  politicians  we've  been  fighting, 
I  suppose. 

Governor — You  mean  the  Utility  crowd. 

Bob — Yes. 

Governor — They  would  have  too  much  sense  to 
expect  to  accomplish  anything  by  such  means. 

Bob — {Smiling.)  Perhaps  they  have  discovered 
some  of  your  early  indiscretions,  Governor. 

Marjorie — Daddy  never  had  any  early  indis- 
cretions— had  you — old  dear? 

{Pause.) 

Governor — I  should  really  like  to  know  who 
sent  that  letter. 

Marjorie — {Brightening.)  I  tell  you — let's 
find  out  who  wrote  it  and  have  Bob  send  him  to 
prison.    It's  blackmail,  isn't  it? 

Governor — I  don't  know — is  it,  Bob? 

Bob — Pretty  good  guess,  Marjorie — you  should 
be  a  lawyer  and  no  mistake.  But  how  are  you 
going  to  find  out  who  wrote  it?  It's  all  typewritten, 
you  see. 


20  NOTHING  ELSE  TO  DO 

Marjorie — I  read  somewhere  that  every  type- 
writer has  an  infirmity,  and  that  no  two  are  alike. 
Let's  look  at  the  letter  again.  Wait,  I'll  get  the 
glass. 

(She  takes  a  magnifying  glass*  from  the  table 
drawer  and  examines  the  letter  under  the  lamp.) 

Marjorie — Look,  Bob — here  are  two  capital  A's 
above  the  level  of  the  other  letters — that's  something, 
isn't  it? 

Bob — You're  right,  Marjorie — let's  see  what  else 
we  can  find. 

Marjorie — This  letter  i  is  tilted  slightly  to  the 
right — here's  another  the  same  way — look. 

(Bob  takes  the  glass  and  looks.) 

Bob — It  certainly  is — and  here's  another  the  same 
way — and  here's  a  letter  /  tilted  the  other  way — 
we're  discovering  things,  Governor. 

Governor — So  it  seems,  but  how  are  you  going 
to  find  out  who  wrote  it? 

Bob — I  don't  know  yet — but  it's  worth  trying. 

(Enter  Jenkins.) 

Jenkins — Count  Orsini  is  calling. 

Marjorie — O  dear — now  I  suppose  I  shall  have 
to  go — just  when  I  am  so  interested  in  the  letter. 

Bob — Never  mind,  Marjorie,  you  and  I  will  get 
to  the  bottom  of  this  letter  yet. 

Marjorie — (To  Jenkins.)  Ask  the  Count  to 
come  in. 


ACT  I  21 

(Exit  Jenkins.) 

Governor — I'm  off  to  the  study,  Bob.  Come  in 
after  Marjorie  goes,  and  we'll  finish  our  talk  there. 
Good  night,  Marjorie. 

Marjorie — (Kissing  him.)    Good  night,  Daddy. 

(Exit  Governor;  then  enter  Orsini.) 

Marjorie — Good  evening,  Count. 

Orsini — Good  evening,  Miss  Burton — and  how 
are  you,   Mr.   Allen. 

Bob — Very  well,  thank  you. 

Orsini — (To  Bob.)  Miss  Burton  is  very  charm- 
ing tonight,  is  she  not? 

Bob — (Tolerantly.)  Yes,  indeed — I  was  just 
saying  so. 

Marjorie — (To  Orsini.)  Is  it  not  time  for  the 
theatre  ? 

Orsini — It  is  just  eight. 

Marjorie — Then  we  must  stay  only  a  moment. 

Orsini — I  am  at  your  service,  always. 

Marjorie — To  what  theatre  are  we  going? 

Orsini — To  the  one  which  was  named  after  you. 

Marjorie — Which  is  that? 

Orsini — The  Princess. 

Bob — The  Count  is  most  subtle. 

Marjorie — He  has  the  subtlety  of  a  serpent. 

Orsini — You  flatter  me,  Miss  Burton.  You 
know  the  serpent  is  the  symbol  of  temptation. 

Bob — Should  you  like  to  impersonate  temptation? 


22  NOTHING  ELSE  TO  DO 

Orsini — What  man  would  not? 

Marjorie — I  thought  that  was  a  feminine  role — 
created  by  Eve,  wasn't  it? 

Bob — Yes,  but  the  men  found  it  so  attractive  that 
they  decided  to  play  it  themselves,  eh  Count? 

Orsini — I  think  rather  the  women  concluded 
that  the  part  was  unbecoming  to  them. 

Bob — And  then  the  men  found  it  so  particularly 
becoming  to  them. 

Marjorie — Well,  I  notice  that  when  anyone  is 
to  be  blamed,  the  men  still  point  their  finger  at 
poor  old  Eve. 

Bob — That  they  do — we're  an  ungallant  lot, 
Marjorie. 

Marjorie — Having  made  you  admit  that,  the 
Count  and  I  must  be  off  to  the  theatre.  Good 
night,  Bob. 

Bob — Good  night  to  you  both. 

Orsini — Good  night,  Mr.  Allen. 

{Marjorie  and  Orsini  go.     Enter  Jenkins.) 

Jenkins — Mr.  Hopper  is  calling — I  beg  pardon, 
sir,  I  thought  the  Governor  was  here. 

Bob — He's  in  his  study,  Jenkins.  I'm  just  going 
there.  Show  the  gentleman  in  here,  and  I'll  tell 
the  Governor.    What's  the  name,  did  you  say? 

Jenkins — Mr.  Hopper,  sir. 

{Bob  goes.  Jenkins  shows  in  Mr.  Hopper.  A 
moment  later  the  Governor  enters.) 


ACT  I  23 

Hopper — Good  evening,  Governor. 

Governor — Good  evening,  Mr.  Hopper — sit 
down. 

Hopper-*—  (Doing  so.)  Thank  you.  I  called  to 
give  you  the  result  of  my  investigation. 

Governor — Yes. 

Hopper — I  have  made  some  inquiries  and  have 
personally  kept  watch  of  Count  Orsini  for  the  past 
week.  His  life  seems  to  be  altogether  idle  and 
irregular.  He  lives  in  a  furnished  apartment  at  67 
Elm  Street.  An  Italian  man  servant  lives  with  him. 
He  rarely  leaves  his  apartment  before  11  in  the 
morning.  He  spends  more  or  less  time  at  the 
Down  Town  Club,  where  he  is  a  non-resident  mem- 
ber. He  seems  to  have  very  few  friends  among 
men.  At  any  rate  he  seldom  associates  with  men. 
He  is  frequently  in  the  society  of  your  daughter. 
Of  course,  you  know  that. 

Governor — Yes — they  are  together  tonight. 

Hopper — I  know.  Then  there  is  one  other  young 
woman  he  sees  frequently — more  frequently  than 
anyone  in  fact.  She  is  of  a  very  different  type  from 
your  daughter.  Their  meetings  usually  take  place 
at  the  Count's  apartment. 

Governor — His  mistress? 

Hopper — No  doubt. 

Governor — Who  is  she? 

Hopper — I  have  been  unable  to  learn  her  name. 


24  NOTHING  ELSE  TO  DO 

She  is  small  and  dark  and  has  rather  a  foreign 
appearance.  I  would  judge  that  she  is  an  Italian, 
as  he  is. 

Governor — What  else? 

Hopper — I  think  that's  the  substance  of  it,  for 
the  present.  If  you  think  it  important,  I  will  en- 
deavor to  find  out  who  the  young  woman  is. 

Governor — Yes,  I  should  like  to  know. 

Hopper — Is  there  anything  else  you  would  like 
to  suggest? 

Governor — No — but  find  out  her  name  without 
fail — and  where  she  lives  and  with  whom. 

Hopper — I  will,  Governor.  (Rising.)  I'll  not 
keep  you  longer.     Good  night. 

Governor — (Also  rising.)  Good  night,  Mr. 
Hopper.  Thank  you  for  coming — and  I  shall  de- 
pend upon  you  to  give  me  further  particulars. 

Hopper — Thanks — I'll  report  as  soon  as  possible. 

(He  goes — a  moment  later  Bob  enters.) 

Bob — Excuse  me,  Governor,  but  who  is  the  chap 
that  just  left? 

Governor — A  detective  by  the  name  of  Hopper. 

Bob — How  does  he  happen  to  be  here — may  I 
ask? 

Governor — I  employed  him  to  procure  some 
confidential  information  for  me. 

Bob — Do  you  know  who  he  is? 

Governor — No,    except    that    he    comes    from 


ACT  I  25 

White's  agency. 

Bob — Why  did  you  go  to  White's? 

Governor — No  particular  reason,  except  that 
they  are  supposed  to  be  reliable. 

Bob — Didn't  you  know  they  were  tied  up  hand 
and   foot  with   the   Utility  crowd? 

Governor — No,  I  didn't — but  what  of  it? 

Bob — And  if  this  Hopper  is  the  man  I  take  him 
for,  he  is  a  very  skillful  chap  brought  here  by  White 
from  New  York  to  do  secret  service  work  for 
Jim  Sullivan,  President  of  Public  Utilities.  I  hope 
you  haven't  trusted  him  with  anything  important. 

Governor — No,  not  very  important — it  was 
purely  a  personal  matter — still — are  you  sure  he's 
the  man  you  think  he  is  ? 

Bob — No — but  I  can  find  out.  Say,  Governor, 
this  man  couldn't  have  any  connection  with  that 
anonymous  letter — could  he? 

Governor — I  was  just  thinking  of  that.  Do  you 
know,  there's  something  about  that  letter  I  don't 
like. 

Bob — What  do  you  mean? 

Governor — I'll  be  frank  with  you,  Bob,  because 
I  need  your  advice,  and  besides,  I  feel  that  you  are 
closer  to  me  in  this  campaign  than  anyone  else. 
Then,  too,  I  know  that  I  can  trust  you  implicitly. 

Bob — I  think  that's  true,  Governor. 

Governor — Well,   there's  something  about  the 


26  NOTHING  ELSE  TO  DO 

wording  of  that  letter — it  didn't  strike  me  at  first, 
but  the  more  I  think  of  it,  the  more  I  am  convinced 
that  the  man  who  wrote  that  letter  wasn't 
bluffing. 

Bob — You  mean  he  knows  something  that  you 
don't  want  exposed. 

Governor — Yes — I'll  tell  you  what  it  is.  It's 
a  rare  bit  of  ancient  history — some  of  my  wild 
oats  cropping  up  again.  The  fact  is  that  almost 
thirty  years  ago — before  I  was  married  that  was — 
I  became  infatuated  with  a  young  Italian  woman  by 
the  name  of  Theresa  Lugioni.  Her  father  at  that 
time  was  Italian  consul  here.  After  our  infatua- 
tion had  lasted  for  about  a  year,  her  father  re- 
turned to  Italy,  taking  her  with  him.  A  short  time 
after  this,  I  met  Marjorie's  mother.  We  fell  in 
love,  became  engaged,  and  were  married  within  a 
few  months.  Several  weeks  after  we  were  married, 
I  had  a  letter  from  Theresa  telling  me  that  she 
expected  a  child. 

Bob — How  unfortunate! 

Governor — Shortly  after  that,  her  father  died, 
and  she  returned  here.  Of  course,  there  was  noth- 
ing which  I  could  do,  except  to  look  after  the  mother 
and  her  little  daughter.  This  I  have  done  from  that 
time  to  now. 

Bob — They  are  still  here? 

Governor — Yes. 


ACT  I  27 

Bob — How  many  people  are  there  who  know  of 
this? 

Governor — So  far  as  I  believe — no  one  except 
the  mother  herself. 

Bob — Not  even  the  daughter? 

Governor — I  think  not. 

Bob — And  yet  you  think  the  writer  of  this  let- 
ter— 

Governor — Either  knows — or  else  he  stumbled 
upon  language  which  points  squarely  in  that  direc- 
tion. 

Bob — That  makes  it  doubly  important  to  find  out 
who  wrote  the  letter. 

Governor — Do  you  think  there  is  a  chance. 

Bob — I  don't  know.  At  any  rate,  Marjorie  has 
given  us  a  clue,  and  I  am  going  to  follow  it  up  and 
see  where  it  leads.  I'm  off  at  once,  Governor,  if 
you  don't  mind. 

Governor — Can  I  do  anything? 

Bob — Not  tonight.  What  did  you  say  the  wo- 
man's name  was? 

Governor — Theresa  Lugioni. 

Bob — And  the  daughter's  name? 

Governor — Theresa  Lugioni — the  same  as  her 
mother's. 

Bob — Where  do  they  live? 

Governor — At  610  Grace  Street. 

Bob — Let  me  take  the  letter,  will  you? 


28  NOTHING  ELSE  TO  DO 

Governor — (Giving  it  to  him.)     Here  it  is. 

Bob — Now,  good  night,  Governor.  Don't  worry 
about  this  thing — we'll  get  to  the  bottom  of  it 
somehow. 

Governor — Thanks  Bob — a  thousand  times — 
Good  night. 

(Bob  goes.) 

( The  Governor  sits  down  in  the  easy  chair  by  the 
table — a  moment  later  Jane  enters.) 

Jane — Where's  Bob? 

Governor — Just  gone. 

Jane — (Sitting  down.)  Then  I  suggest  that  you 
and  I  finish  our  talk  about  Marjorie. 

Governor — What  more  is  there  to  be  said  about 
Marjorie? 

Jane — Very  much.  I've  been  studying  Mar- 
jorie carefully,  and  I  have  some  ideas  as  to  what 
should  be  done  about  her. 

Governor — I'm  listening. 

Jane — Marjorie  is  quite  a  strong-minded  young 
woman,  and  very  ambitious  to  do  something  with 
her  life.  She  has  decided  that  she  wants  to  study 
law. 

Governor — What  made  her  decide  that? 

Jane — I  don't  know — I  suppose  because  she 
wants  something  interesting  to  do. 

Governor — But  why  can't  she  do  something 
more  feminine? 


ACT  I  29 

Jane — She  seems  to  be  doing  something  quite 
feminine  at  this  time. 

Governor — How  so? 

Jane — Isn't  she  indulging  in  the  very  feminine 
occupation  of  allowing  Count  Orsini  to  make  love 
to  her? 

Governor — Do  you  really  think  that  she's  in- 
terested in  that  fellow? 

Jane — I  think  she  is — to  some  extent.  Do  you 
find  him  so  very  objectionable? 

Governor — Yes,  I  do. 

Jane — Why? 

Governor — I  suppose  my  greatest  objection  is  his 
infernal  laziness.  He  seems  to  have  nothing  which 
bears  the  slightest  resemblance  to  a  useful  occupa- 
tion. 

Jane — Probably  that's  why  he  and  Marjorie  are 
so  congenial.  They  both  seem  to  be  lacking  in 
useful  occupation. 

Governor — The  cases  are  entirely  different.  He 
is  a  man,  and  Marjorie  is  a  woman. 

Jane — The  cases  are  not  in  the  least  different. 
We  all  develop  under  the  stimulus  of  employment. 
We  all  stagnate  in  idleness.  That  is  why  so  many 
men  develop,  and  so  many  women  do  not. 

Governor — Well,  Jane,  I  decline  to  be  drawn 
into  a  discussion  of  what  you  call  feminism.  You 
always  have  the  last  word  on  that  subject.    Besides, 


30  NOTHING  ELSE  TO  DO 

I'm  getting  sleepy.  (He  places  his  feet  on  a  stool 
and  sinks  down  comfortably  into  his  chair.) 

Jane — But,  John,  don't  you  realize  that  some- 
time you  must  begin  to  take  women  seriously? 
Instead  of  discouraging  Marjorie,  you  should  be 
glad  and  proud  to  know  that  she  has  the  ambition 
to  want  to  make  something  of  her  life.  Besides,  there 
is  another  thing  to  consider — the  most  important  of 
all. 

Governor — What  is  that?     (He  nods  sleepily.) 

Jane — You  say  what  you  most  dislike  about  the 
Count  is  his  idleness? 

Governor — Yes. 

Jane — Suppose  you  had  a  son  the  Count's  age. 
And  suppose  you  permitted  him  to  be  just  as  idle  as 
the  Count,  and  gave  him  as  much  money  as  ever  he 
wanted.     What  do  you  think  would  be  the  result? 

Governor — I  wouldn't  do  it. 

Jane — But  suppose  you  did — what  would  be  the 
result  ? 

Governor — (More  sleepily.)  I  suppose  the 
devil  would  be  the  result. 

Jane — Exactly  so.  Doubtless  the  devil  would 
be  the  result.  And  yet  don't  you  realize  that  you 
are  doing  that  very  thing  with  Marjorie?  You 
give  her  as  much  money  as  she  wants,  you  let  her 
do  whatever  she  pleases,  and  at  the  same  time  you 
deny  her  the  right  to  engage  in  any  useful  occupa- 


ACT  I  31 

tion.  That  would  corrupt  ninety  per  cent,  of  the 
male  sex,  and  you  know  it ;  yet  you  expect  Marjorie 
to  be  unaffected  by  it.  You  have  no  right  to  expect 
it,  it  isn't  fair  to  Marjorie.  You  may  never  have 
thought  of  it,  John,  but  it's  a  fact  that  the  devil 
finds  mischief  for  idle  women  as  well  as  idle  men. 
And  if  anything  should  happen  to  Marjorie — if  she 
should  do  anything  of  which  you  might  not  approve 
— it  would  be  your  fault  more  than  hers.  Don't  you 
realize  that,  John? 

( The  Governor  does  not  answer.  After  a  pause, 
Jane  gets  up  and  looks  at  him.  His  head  has  fallen 
forward  and  he  is  sleeping  soundly.) 

Jane — The  spirit  of  vigilance  and  reason  sleeps. 

(She  takes  a  book  from  the  table  and  sits  down  to 
read. ) 

CURTAIN 


ACT  II 

Late  the  next  afternoon. 

Scene — The  living  room  of  the  Count's  apart- 
ment. In  the  back  is  a  bay  window  overlooking  the 
street.  On  the  right  is  a  door  leading  to  the  back 
of  the  apartment.  On  the  left,  in  the  rear,  is  the 
entry.  On  the  left  front  is  a  door  leading  to  the 
Count's  bedroom.  In  the  front  of  this  door  is  a 
heavy  velvet  portiere.  Opposite  this  door  on  the 
right  wall  is  a  target  for  pistol  practice.  Conven- 
tional furniture,  pictures,  etc.  '  There  is  a  table, 
with  a  telephone. 

As  the  curtain  rises,  the  Count's  Italian  man- 
servant enters  from  the  right.  He  has  on  his  hat 
and  is  putting  on  his  overcoat  to  go  out.  As  he  is 
taking  a  final  look  over  the  room,  the  bell  rings. 
He  takes  off  his  coat  and  hat,  and  goes  to  the  door. 

Arrazo — Ah,  Signora,  it  is  you. 

Theresa — Yes,  Arrazo,  it  is  I.  Is  his  lordsihp 
within  ? 

Arrazo — No,  Signora,  he  is  without.  Further- 
more, he  is  not  expected  to  return,  and  has  given 
me  a  holiday.     I  was  departing  as  you  arrived. 

Theresa — Don't  let  me  keep  you.     I  will  make 
myself  at  home.     If  his  lordship  does  not  come  to 
me,  I  will  steal  a  nap  on  his  couch. 
32 


ACT  II  33 

Arrazo — Very  good — may  I  not  offer  you  some- 
thing before  I  go? 

Theresa — No,  thank  you.  If  I  grow  faint,  I 
will  help  myself  to  some  of  your  excellent  wine. 

Arrazo — Signora  will  be  most  welcome.  Here 
is  the  decanter  on  the  table.  And  now,  since  you 
allow  me,  I  will  go  to  meet  my  friends. 

Theresa — By  all  means. 

{Arrazo  takes  his  hat  and  coat  and  bows  himself 
out.) 

Left  to  herself,  Theresa  goes  into  the  Count's 
bedroom,  where  she  leaves  her  hat  and  coat.  She 
comes  out,  singing  softly,  and  goes  curiously  about 
the  room,  examining  everything.  She  is  in  fine 
spirits.  When  she  comes  to  the  target,  she  claps  her 
hands  and  runs  back  to  the  Count's  room.  In  a 
moment  she  appears  at  the  door  with  a  pistol,  which 
she  aims  at  the  target  and  fires.  There  is  no  smoke 
and  only  a  muffled  noise.  The  shot  hits  the  bell 
and  Theresa  gives  an  exclamation  of  pleasure.  She 
takes  back  the  pistol  to  the  Count's  room.  She  re- 
turns and  continues  her  journey  around  the  room. 
Presently  she  comes  to  the  table  which  contains  a 
photograph  of  Marjorie.  She  picks  it  up  and  ex- 
amines it.  Her  singing  ceases.  She  throws  it 
down  contemptuously.  Then  she  goes  to  a  mirror 
and  looks  at  herself — then  she  laughs  and  sings 
again.      She   goes    to    the   window   and   looks    out 


34  NOTHING  ELSE  TO  DO 

through  the  curtains.  Suddenly  her  singing  ceases, 
and  she  looks  intently,  as  though  following  someone 
with  her  eyes.  Finally  the  persons  she  has  been 
watching  come  directly  under  the  window,  and  her 
last  look  is  followed  by  an  exclamation  of  rage. 
She  crosses  the  stage  cautiously  and  disappears  be- 
hind the  portieres  into  the  Count's  bedroom.  Pres- 
ently the  entrance  door  is  opened  with  a  key,  and 
the  Count  enters,  followed  by  Marjorie.  The  Count 
takes  off  his  coat  and  hat  and  places  them  on  a  chair 
near  the  entry. 

Marjorie — How  dreadfully  dark  it  seems. 

Orsini — The  days  are  getting  short.  Shall  I 
light  a  lamp? 

Marjorie — Not  yet.  Are  you  sure  there  is  no 
one  here? 

Orsini — Quite — I  gave  my  man  a  holiday. 

Marjorie — Now  I  can  see  better.  What  an  in- 
teresting place  you  have. 

Orsini — I  find  it  much  more  interesting  today 
than  ever  before. 

Marjorie — It  seems  very  cozy  and  comfortable. 

Orsini — Won't  you  take  off  your  hat  and  coat? 

Marjorie — Yes. 

(She  takes  them  off  and  gives  them  over  to  the 
Count,  who  starts  with  them  towards  his  room. 
She  keeps  in  her  hand  a  lady's  bag.) 

Orsini — I'll  leave  them  in  my  room  so  that  you 


ACT  II  35 

may  never  escape. 

Marjorie — Oh,  no — please  leave  them  here. 

Orsini — As  the  princess  desires. 

{He  returns  and  places  them  on  a  second  chair 
near  the  entry.) 

What  is  your  next  wish  ?  May  I  offer  you  a  glass 
of  wine? 

Marjorie — No,  thank  you — I  am  sufficiently 
intoxicated  with  the  excitement  of  being  here.  May 
I  look  about? 

.Orsini — With  pleasure. 

Marjorie — {Who  has  come  to  the  target.) 
Gracious — what  a  strange  decoration. 

Orsini — That's  a  target  for  my  pistol  practice. 

Marjorie — Do  you  shoot  here? 

Orsini — Every  day. 

Marjorie — But  your  neighbors! 

Orsini — Both  the  other  apartments  are  vacant — 
besides,  I  use  a  new  powder  that  makes  very  little 
noise  and  no  smoke. 

Marjorie — How  curious! 

Orsini — Shall  I  get  my  pistol  and  give  you  an 
exhibition  ? 

Marjorie — Please,  no — I  am  frightened  enough 
as  it  is. 

Orsini — Why  are  you  frightened? 

Marjorie — I  have  a  sense  of  impending  danger 
— doubtless  a  passing  fancy.    Doesn't  it  seem  strange 


36  NOTHING  ELSE  TO  DO 

that  you  and  I  should  be  alone  here  in  your  apart- 
ment? 

Orsini — It  is  very  strange  and  very  wonderful. 
Now  I  should  like  to  stop  all  of  the  clocks  in  the 
world,  and  bid  time  stand  still  forever. 

Marjorie — I  fear  that  you  are  more  poet  than 
philosopher. 

Orsini — Today,  I  know  nothing  of  philosophy, 
and  everything  of  poetry. 

Marjorie — It  must  be  very  charming  to  know 
everything  of  poetry. 

Orsini — When  one  is  in  love,  one  feels  what  one 
does  not  know.  And  my  love  for  you  makes  me  feel 
in  the  beating  of  my  heart  the  rhythm  of  all  the 
poetry  in  the  world. 

Marjorie — Ah,  Count,  if  the  lover  were  always 
poet,  what  a  delightful  world  it  would  be.  But 
when  he  turns  critic  and  philosopher — that's  the 
beginning  of  another  story. 

Orsini — But  I  would  never  turn  critic  or  phi- 
losopher. 

Marjorie — You  would  some  day — and  I  would 
even  if  you  didn't.     That  is  love's  tradegy. 

Orsini — What  then  is  love's  comedy? 

Marjorie — Its  existence. 

Orsini — You  are  a  pessimist. 

Marjorie — No — only  a  philosopher — one  of  the 
few  of  my  sex. 


ACT  II  37 

Orsini — You're  a  strange  creature,  Mar j one — 
quite  beyond  my  understanding. 

Marjorie — What  about  me  do  you  not  under- 
stand ? 

Orsini — Why  you  are  here,  for  one  thing. 

Marjorie — Shall  I  tell  you  why  I  am  here? 

Orsini — Yes. 

Marjorie — I  came  in  search  of  a  new  game. 

Orsini — Perhaps  I  am  stupid,  but  I  do  not 
understand. 

Marjorie — You  see  I  am  permitted  to  do  noth- 
ing in  this  life  except  to  play — one  game  after 
another — and  I  have  played  them  over  and  over 
until  I  have  grown  tired  and  sick  of  them  all. 

Orsini — So  you  wish  to  throw  away  the  old  toys 
and  find  new  ones? 

Marjorie — For  today — yes. 

Orsini — And  that  is  why  you  came  to  my  toy- 
shop? 

Marjorie — Yes. 

Orsini — What  may  I  show  to  tempt  the  wishes 
of  so  charming  a  patron? 

Marjorie — What  has  the  toy-man  to  offer? 

Orsini — I  offer  you  a  life's  devotion. 

Marjorie — Far  too  serious  a  plaything — show 
me  something  else. 

Orsini — Tell  me  what  you  would  like. 

Marjorie — I  tell  you  I  want  a  new  game — 


38  NOTHING  ELSE  TO  DO 

something  quite  new  and  very  interesting. 

Orsini — But  you  see  I  do  not  know  exactly  what 
kind  of  a  game  you  wish  to  find. 

Marjorie — Toy-men    are    very    stupid    people. 

(A  pause.) 

Orsini — Do  you  like  games  of  adventure? 

Marjorie — Of  course. 

Orsini — Filled  with  all  sorts  of  excitement? 

Marjorie — By  all  means — yes. 

Orsini — How  would  you  like  to  go  exploring? 

Marjorie — Capital!     What  shall  we  explore? 

Orsini — If  you  would,  we  might  explore  together 
a  very  distant  and  very  wonderful  place. 

Marjorie — What  is  its  name? 

Orsini — It  is  called  Treasure  Island. 

Marjorie — Where  is  this  Treasure  Island  you 
speak  of? 

Orsini — It  lies  surrounded  by  the  sea  of  enchant- 
ment. 

Marjorie — But  how  does  one  sail  over  the  sea 
of  enchantment? 

Orsini — On  the  ship  of  adventure. 

Marjorie — And  what  wonderful  things  do  ex- 
plorers find  on  this  Treasure  Island  ? 

Orsini — If  one  is  very  fortunate,  one  may  find 
the  last  chapter  of  the  book  of  knowledge. 

Marjorie — What  is  it  about — this  last  chapter 
of  the  book  of  knowledge? 


ACT  II  39 

Orsini — It  is  about  the  greatest  thing  in  the 
world. 

Marjorie — Is  it  very  interesting? 

Orsini — Yes. 

Marjorie — And  quite  new? 

Orsini — It  is  always  new. 

Marjorie — And  exciting? 

Orsini — Most  exciting. 

Marjorie — It  must  be  very  wonderful. 

Orsini — It  is  the  wonder  of  wonders. 

Marjorie — I  think  I  should  like  to  visit  this 
Treasure  Island. 

Orsini — Are  you  not  afraid,  Marjorie? 

Marjorie— Why  should  I  be? 

Orsini — You  know  it  might  be  a  dangerous  ex- 
ploration.   There  may  be  pirates  or  bandits. 

Marjorie — I  am  not  afraid  of  them;  besides  I 
suppose  there  is  no  adventure  without  danger. 

Orsini — Then  shall  we  hoist  our  sails? 

Marjorie — First,  I  want  you  to  make  me  a 
promise. 

Orsini — What  is  it? 

Marjorie — If  you  and  I  go  together  to  this 
Treasure  Island,  I  want  you  to  promise  me  that 
the  first  exploration  shall  be  the  last. 

Orsini — What  do  you  mean? 

Marjorie — I  mean  that  this  must  be  the  end  of 
it  all. 


4o  NOTHING  ELSE  TO  DO 

Orsini — The  end  of  it  all? 

Marjorie — Between  you  and  me — yes. 

Orsini — Wont  you  marry  me,  Marjorie? 

Marjorie — Never — you  know  that. 

Orsini — And  yet —  (A  pause.) 

Marjorie — Yes —  (Another  pause.) 

Orsini — Only  one  chapter? 

Marjorie — Only  one — and  after  that,  all  the 
rest  of  the  book  must  be  torn  into  fragments  and 
scattered  to  the  four  winds. 

Orsini — What  is  to  become  of  the  fragments, 
Marjorie? 

Marjorie — Some  of  them  must  be  carried  a  great 
distance — even  beyond  the  seas. 

Orsini — Then  must  the  beginning  be  the  end? 

Marjorie — That  must  be  definitely  understood. 

Orsini — You  insist  upon  that? 

Marjorie — I  ask  your  promise. 

Orsini — Beggars  may  not  be  choosers. 

Marjorie — You  promise? 

Orsini — I  promise. 

Marjorie — Then  it  is  a  bargain. 

Orsini — Solemn  bargains  are  always  sealed. 

Marjorie — Then  our  bargain  shall  be  sealed. 

Orsini — Today  ? 

Marjorie — Yes. 

(He  takes  her  in  his  arms  and  kisses  her.) 

Marjorie — (After  a  pause.)    Now  we  are  under 


ACT  II  41 

sail — 

Orsini — On  the  sea  of  enchantment — 

Marjorie — Aboard  the  good  ship  Adventure. 

Orsini — Bound  for  Treasure  Island — 

Marjorie — For  Treasure  Island — yes. 

Orsini — How  blue  is  the  sky — 

Marjorie — Not  a  cloud  on  the  horizon — 

Orsini — Nor  pirate  ship — 

Marjorie — Not  even  a  solitary  bandit — 

Orsini — To  steal  the  treasure — 

Marjorie — Or  frighten  the  explorers — 

Orsini — Or  drown  the  spirit  of  adventure. 

{He  draws  her  to  him  and  kisses  her  again.) 

Marjorie — Ah,  Count — you  are  ever  so  fascinat- 
ing. You  have  all  the  evidences  of  Italian  train- 
ing. You  must  have  studied  the  art  of  making 
love  as  men  in  this  country  study  business  or  politics. 

Orsini — Not  so — Marjorie.  To  make  love  to 
you  is  nature,  not  art. 

Marjorie — But  even  nature  does  not  attain  per- 
fection without  much  development.  I  must  have 
had  many  predecessors. 

Orsini — Not  one  whom  I  have  ever  loved  seri- 
ously. 

Marjorie — Are  you  sure? 

Orsini — Yes. 

Marjorie — Quite  sure? 

Orsini — Quite  sure. 


42  NOTHING  ELSE  TO  DO 

Marjorie — No  one  in  the  wide  world? 

Orsini — No  one  in  the  wide  world. 
(A    noise    is    heard    in    the    Count's    bedroom,    as 
though  something  had  fallen.) 

Marjorie — What's  that? 

Orsini — I  don't  know. 

Marjorie — There  must  be  someone  there. 

Orsini — That  is  impossible. 

Marjorie — Go  and  see. 

Orsini — Of  course. 

(He  goes  to  his  bedroom.  As  the  portieres  fall 
behind  him,  the  shot  of  the  Count's  pistol  is  heard, 
followed  by  the  sound  of  a  body  falling  to  the  floor. 
Marjorie  drops  the  bag  she  carried  in  her  hand. 
She  is  terror  stricken.  She  looks  about  wildly,  not 
knowing  what  to  do.  At  the  end  of  a  few  seconds, 
another  pistol  shot  is  heard,  followed  by  a  piercing 
cry  from  Theresa.  Then  follows  a  dead  silence. 
The  second  shot  seems  to  have  counteracted  the 
effect  of  the  first  on  Marjorie's  nerves.  With  fixed 
revolution,  she  goes  into  the  Count's  bedroom.  A 
moment  later  the  entrance  door  opens  and  Arrazo 
enters.  He  notices  the  Count's  coat  and  hat  near 
the  entry,  together  with  Marjorie's  coat  and  hat. 
He  looks  knowingly  towards  the  Count's  room.  He 
also  sees  Marjorie's  bag,  which  he  picks  up  from 
the  floor  and  places  on  the  mantlepiece.  He  then 
goes  noiselessly   through   the  door  at  the  right,  to 


ACT  II  43 

the  back  of  the  apartment.  A  moment  later  Marjorie 
returns.  She  is  manifestly  under  the  stress  of  great 
nervous  excitement.  She  goes  to  the  telephone  and 
takes  down  the  receiver.) 

Marjorie — Give  me  police  headquarters,  please. 
(Pause.)  Is  this  police  headquarters?  (Pause.) 
Please  send  someone  immediately  to  Count  Orsini's 
apartment,  67  Elm  Street.  The  Count  Orsini  has 
been  murdered. 

(She  hangs  up  the  receiver,  puts  on  her  coat  and 
hat  hurriedly,  and  with  a  last  glance  toward  the 
Count's  room,  she  departs,  closing  the  entry  door 
behind  her.  She  has  left  her  bag  on  the  mantle- 
piece.) 

( The  curtain  falls  momentarily  to  indicate  the 
lapse  of  an  hour.  On  the  rise  of  the  curtain,  is  dis- 
covered Arrazo  in  charge  of  ttuo  police  officers.) 

Arrazo — Gentlemen,  I  wish  to  explain  something 
— there  is  something  I  wish  to  tell. 

First  Officer — You  are  not  to  explain  any- 
thing or  tell  anything  or  touch  anything  until  the 
boss  arrives.  Then  you  can  do  all  the  explaining 
you  want. 

Arrazo — Yes,  gentlemen,  thank  you,  gentlemen. 

Second  Officer — How  did  they  happen  to  put 
Hopper  on  this  job? 

First  Officer — Chief  said  all  our  men  were  out, 
so  he  telephoned  White's  and  they  agreed  to  send 


44  NOTHING  ELSE  TO  DO 

Hopper.  {Looking  at  watch.)  He  should  be  here 
by  this  time. 

Second  Officer — New  in  these  parts,  ain't  he? 

First  Officer — Yes,  White's  brought  him  here 
from  New  York.     Best  man  White  has,  they  say. 

Second  Officer — Ever  seen  much  of  him? 

First  Officer — Not  much.  Met  him  in  that 
gas  house  case.  Remember  it,  don't  you?  Well, 
he  did  the  trick  for  the  Gas  Company  there  all 
right.     {The  bell  rings.)     That's  him  now. 

{The  officer  opens  the  door — Hopper  enters.) 

Hopper — {Taking  off  his  coat,  inquires  in  a  per- 
fectly matter-of-fact,  business-like  manner.)  Well 
what  have  we  here? 

First  Officer — Bad  mixup,  Captain — man  and 
woman  shot  in  the  next  room — both  dead  when  we 
got  here,  sir. 

Hopper — Anything  been  moved  since  you  arrived  ? 

First  Officer — Nothing,  Captain — had  orders 
not  to. 

Arrazo — Gentlemen,  let  me  explain — I  will  tell 
you  all — I  will  explain  everything,  gentlemen. 

Hopper — Keep  still — you'll  have  plenty  of  time 
to  explain  after  I  look  about.  Where  are  the 
bodies  ? 

First  Officer — {Indicating.)  This  room,  Cap- 
tain. 

Hopper — All  right — you  stay  here  and  keep  your 


ACT  II  45 

eyes  on  this  man.  I'll  take  a  look.  {He  goes  into 
the  Count's  room.) 

Second  Officer — {Quietly.)     Cool,  ain't  he? 

First  Officer — {Also  quietly.)  Acts  as  if  he 
was  investigating  a  baby  for  stealing  candy. 

Second  Officer — Wonder  what  he'll  make  out 
of  it. 

First  Officer — I'm  glad  I'm  not  in  the  shoes  of 
this  Dago  here. 

Arrazo — Gentlemen — I  did  not  do  it — I  am 
innocent — I  will  explain  everything. 

First  Officer — Shut  up — you'll  have  more  ex- 
plaining to  do  than  you'll  want  in  a  minute. 

{Hopper  returns — he  goes  about  the  room  with 
his  hands  behind  his  back — examining  everything 
studiously.) 

Hopper — {To  officer.)  How  did  you  happen  to 
to  be  sent  here? 

First  Officer — Some  woman  called  headquar- 
ters— told  the  operator  to  send  someone  here  at 
once  as  somebody  had  been  murdered.  Then  she 
hung  up  the  receiver.  The  operator  traced  the  call 
back,  and  found  it  came  from  this  telephone.  We 
were  here  fifteen  minutes  afterwards. 

Hopper — What  did  you  find? 

First  Officer — We  rang  the  bell — this  man 
opened  the  door.  Said  he  was  the  servant  of 
Count  Orsini,  who  lives  here.     Said  his  master  was 


46  NOTHING  ELSE  TO  DO 

out.  We  asked  him  if  anything  had  happened.  He 
said  no.  Up  to  that  time  he  seemed  rather  cool. 
Then  we  told  him  we  guessed  we'd  go  through  the 
place.  Then  he  got  excited  and  didn't  want  us  to. 
We  went  through  and  found  what  you  saw  in  there. 

Hopper — What  did  you  do  then? 

First  Officer — Phoned  headquarters  and  told 
them  what  we'd  found.  The  chief  said  to  do  noth- 
ing but  hold  down  the  job  until  he  sent  someone 
from  the  detective  force.  Later  he  phoned  and  said 
you  were  coming. 

Hopper — Good.  Was  this  man  with  you  wher 
you  found  the  bodies?  , 

First  Officer — Yes  sir. 

Hopper — What  did  he  say? 

First  Officer — He  put  up  an  awful  good  bluff 
at  being  surprised.     He  took  us  both  in,  Captain. 

Hopper — Do  you  think  it  was  a  bluff? 

First  Officer — Don't  see  any  escape  from  it, 
Captain.  He  said  he'd  been  here  for  half  an  hour, 
and  those  bodies  were  still  warm.  They  couldn't 
have  been  dead  that  long. 

Hopper — What  time  did  you  arrive? 

First  Officer — Five-twenty;  (looking  at 
watch)  it's  six  thirty  now. 

Hopper — Good — now  we'll  hear  from  this  man. 

(To  Arrazo.)     What's  your  name? 

Arrazo — (Excitedly  throughout.)     Arrazo  Fer- 


ACT  II  47 

ratti,  gentlemen. 

Hopper — Did  you  ever  see  a  man  hung,  Arrazo  ? 

Arrazo — (Terrified.)  .No,  no — Mio  Dio — I  do 
not  like  to  see  such  thing.    Ah,  misericordia ! 

Hopper — Then  listen,  Arrazo.  You  are  going 
to  be  hung  unless  you  tell  me  the  truth.  Do  you 
understand. 

Arrazo — No,  no — si,  si — yes,  yes — gentlemen — 
all  I  will  tell.  I  tell  you  the  truth.  I  tell  you 
everything — tutto — tutto. 

Hopper — Good.  Where  have  you  been  this  af- 
ternoon, Arrazo? 

Arrazo — Gentlemen,  I  leave  here  at  half  past 
four.  I  go  to  my  friend,  Tony  Ferranno's  place.  I 
drink  there  a  glass  of  wine.  He  will  tell  you  truly. 
Then  I  return. 

Hopper — What  time  did  you  return? 

Arrazo — I  do  not  know  the  hour,  gentlemen.  I 
see  not  my  watch.  I  am  not  long  here  when  came 
these  gentlemen. 

Hopper — Who  was  here  when  you  left? 

Arrazo — The  poor  lady  there  in  that  room.  She 
is  here  when  I  go. 

Hopper — Where  was  your  master? 

Arrazo — I  do  not  know,  gentlemen — he  was 
away. 

Hopper — When  did  he  return? 

Arrazo — I  do  not  know.     I  see  him  no  more 


48  NOTHING  ELSE  TO  DO 

until  these  gentlemen  found  him.    Oh,  Mio  Dio! 

Hopper — What  did  you  do  when  you  returned? 

Arrazo — I  go  to  my  room — at  the  back  of  the 
house.     There  I  was  when  these  gentlemen  arrive. 

Hopper — You  came  in  through  this  door? 

Arrazo — Yes,  gentlemen. 

Hopper — And  when  you  came  in  you  saw  your 
master's  coat  and  hat  there  by  the  door,  didn't  you? 

Arrazo — {Surprised.)  Oh,  but  yes,  gentlemen 
truly  I  saw  that. 

Hopper — Then  you  knew  that  he  had  returned. 

Arrazo — Yes,  gentlemen,  that  I  knew. 

Hopper — Then  why  did  you  tell  these  men  your 
master  was  out? 

Arrazo — Ah,  Madonna  mia — how  can  I  know 
what  have  happened,  gentlemen?  I  know  my  mas- 
ter was  in  his  room.  He  will  not  wish  to  be  dis- 
turbed by  these  gentlemen. 

Hopper — You  did  not  know  that  anything  had 
happened  ? 

Arrazo — No,  gentlemen,  no — per  la  Madonna — 
I  know  nothing,  I  swear. 

Hopper — Your  master  is  the  Count  Rafaele 
Orsini  ? 

Arrazo — Yes,  gentlemen. ' 

Hopper — And  the  woman  in  there  was  his 
mistress  ? 

Arrazo — Ah,  yes,  gentlemen — she  was  his  friend 


ACT  II  49 

— la  poveretta! 

Hopper — What  was  her  name? 

Arrazo — Senora  Theresa  Lugioni. 

Hopper — What's  that? 

Arrazo — Theresa  Lugioni,  gentlemen,  si  gentile, 
si  buona. 

Hopper — Good  God — his —  Where  does  she 
live? 

Arrazo — She  live  at  Grace  Street,  number  610. 

Hopper — With  her  mother? 

Arrazo — Yes,  gentlemen. 

Hopper — And  her  mother's  name  is  Theresa 
Lugioni  ? 

Arrazo — Yes,  gentlemen — you  know  her — you 
see  I  speak  always  the  truth. 

Hopper — Theresa  was  here  frequently,  was  she 
not? 

Arrazo — She  was  here  many  times — yes,  gentle- 
men. 

Hopper — Did  they  ever  quarrel? 

Arrazo — Oh,  mio  Dio — nevair — nevair — so  ama- 
bile — always  kind  together. 

Hopper — Then  why  did  she  shoot  him  ? 

Arrazo — Senora  shoot  Don  Orsini!  Oh,  no — 
nevair — nevair!  Senora  nevair  shoot  my  poor  mas- 
ter— no,  no,  gentlemen. 

Hopper — Then  who  did  shoot  him? 

Arrazo — Ah,    it   was   another   lady — a   strange 


50  NOTHING  ELSE  TO  DO 

lady,  gentlemen.  She  was  here  with  my  master 
when  I  came.    Ah,  la  cattiva! 

Hopper — What's  that? 

Arrazo — When  I  came  in,  gentlemen,  here  on 
this  chair  I  see  the  coat  and  hat  of  Signor  il  Conte, 
and  here  on  this  chair  I  see  the  coat  and  hat  of  a 
lady — it  is  strange — I  have  never  before  seen.  I 
go  to  my  room,  and  when  these  gentlemen  come,  the 
strange  coat  and  hat  are  gone — the  strange  lady 
also  have  gone.  It  was  the  strange  lady,  gentlemen, 
who  have  killed  Signor  il  Conte  and  Signora 
Theresa. 

First  Officer — That  might  explain  the  tele- 
phone call,  Captain. 

Hopper — Do  you  know  who  this  other  woman 
was,  Arrazo? 

Arrazo — No,  gentlemen,  that  I  know  not. 

Hopper — Was  any  other  woman  ever  here  be- 
fore? 

Arrazo — No,  gentlemen — only  Signora  Theresa. 

Hopper — Are  you  sure  the  coat  and  hat  you  saw 
did  not  belong  to  Theresa? 

Arrazo — No,  no,  gentlemen.  The  coat  and  hat 
of  Signora  Theresa  are  in  there.  And,  gentlemen, 
another  thing — now  I  remember.  When  I  come, 
there  was  here  on  the  floor  a  lady's  bag.  I  pick  it 
up  and  put  it  there  on  the  mantel. 

(One  of  the  officers  goes  to  the  mantelpiece  and 


ACT  II  51 

produces  the  bag,  which  he  hands  to  Hopper.) 

Officer — There's  the  bag,  Captain. 

Arrazo — You  see  gentlemen,  I  speak  always  the 
truth — sempre — sempre.  That  is  the  bag  of  the 
strange  lady — it  was  she  who  killed  my  master  and 
the  poor  Signora. 

(Hopper  examines  the  bag.  He  opens  it  and  looks 
inside.  As  he  does  so,  he  utters  an  exclamation  of 
unbounded  astonishment.  He  takes  out  the  contents 
of  the  bag,  including  among  other  things  some  call- 
ing cards.  Then  he  puts  the  contents  back  into  the 
bag  and  puts  the  bag  into  his  pocket.) 

Hopper — Gentlemen,  the  investigation  is  over  for 
tonight.  Let  this  man  be  kept  in  custody  for  the 
present.  Have  the  bodies  removed.  Leave  every- 
thing else  exactly  as  it  is.  I  must  leave  the  details 
to  you.  There  is  another  matter  which  requires 
my  immediate  attention.    Good  night. 

Arrazo — (Muttering.)  Oh,  cosa  terribile — oh, 
maledetta — le  poveri — si  gentile — si  amabile — si 
buoni!     Oh,  Santa  Maria — pieta — pieta! 

(Hopper  takes  his  departure.     The  curtain  falls.) 


ACT  III 

Same  scene  as  Act  I — Later  the  same  evening. 

(Marjorie  is  sitting  by  the  table  with  a  book  be- 
fore her,  which  she  is  apparently  reading  at  intervals. 
She  is  nervous  and  excited.     The  Governor  enters.) 

Governor — Well,  what  has  my  little  girl  been 
doing  today? 

Marjorie — {Startled.)  Oh,  nothing  in  particu- 
lar.    I  took  a  long  motor  ride  this  morning. 

Governor — Have  you  seen  Bob  today? 

Marjorie — No — I  understand  he  telephoned 
while  I  was  out. 

Governor — Is  he  coming  tonight? 

Marjorie — Not  that  I  know  of. 

Governor — You  are  not  feeling  well,  are  you 
dear? 

Marjorie — Yes,  Daddy — what  makes  you  think 
I'm  not? 

Governor — You  don't  seem  yourself  exactly — 
and  you  scarcely  ate  a  bite  for  dinner. 

Marjorie — I  wasn't  very  hungry — but  it's  noth- 
ing— I'll  be  all  right  tomorrow. 

Governor — Better  go  to  bed  early  and  have  a 
good,  long  sleep. 

Marjorie — Yes,  I  shall. 
52 


ACT  III  S3 

(Enter  Jenkins.) 

Jenkins — Mr.  Hopper  is  calling.  Says  it  is  very 
important  for  him  to  see  you  at  once. 

Governor — Oh,  I  don't  want  to  see  him  tonight. 

Jenkins — He  seems  very  anxious  to  see  you,  sir. 

Governor — Well,  let  him  come  in. 

(Exit  Jenkins.) 

Marjorie — Shall  I  go,   Daddy? 

Governor — Should  you  mind — he's  a  very  timid 
man,  and  you  might  embarras  him. 

Marjorie — I  wouldn't  do  that  for  anything. 

(She  rises  to  go.  Hopper  enters.  Upon  seeing 
Marjorie  about  to  go,  he  pauses  in  front  of  the 
doorway.) 

Governor — My  daughter — Mr.  Hopper. 

Marjorie — Good  evening,  Mr.  Hopper..  I  was 
just  going.    Will  you  excuse  me  ? 

Hopper — I  am  sorry.  I  came  to  tell  you  and 
your  father  something  which  I  am  sure  will  interest 
you  both. 

Marjorie — What  is  it? 

Hopper — It  concerns  Count  Orsini. 

Marjorie — (Making  an  effort  at  self  control.) 
Yes. 

Hopper — (Watching  the  effect  of  his  words  on 
Marjorie.)  He  has  met  with  a  very  serious  acci- 
dent, Miss  Burton. 

Marjorie — O,  what  is  it? 


54  NOTHING  ELSE  TO  DO 

Hopper — The  fact  is  that  Count  Orsini  was 
murdered  this  afternoon. 

Governor — You  can't  mean  it,  Mr.  Hopper. 

Hopper — {With  his  eyes  constantly  on  Mar- 
jorie.)  Yes,  it  was  a  very  distressing  affair.  In 
fact  a  double  murder,  Governor. 

Marjorie — O,  no! 

Governor — What's  that? 

Hopper — Yes.  It  seems  there  was  a  young 
Italian  woman  with  Orsini  in  his  apartment.  They 
were  both  shot  and  killed  there. 

Governor — Good  Heavens!    Who  did  it? 

Hopper — (After  a  pause  and  still  watching  Mar- 
jorie.) An  Italian  named  Arrazo  Ferratti.  He  was 
Orsini's  servant. 

Marjorie — (Excited.)     How  do  you  know? 

Hopper — Some  of  the  neighbors  heard  the  shots 
and  telephoned  the  police.  When  they  got  there  a 
few  moments  later,  Arrazo  was  packing  up  some  of 
his  things,  evidently  preparing  for  a  speedy  flight. 
He  was  caught  red-handed. 

Marjorie — But  did  he  confess? 

Hopper — Well,  one  would  hardly  expect  that. 
But  during  the  course  of  the  third  degree  I  put  him 
through,  he  told  enough  lies  to  convict  him  ten 
times  over. 

Governor — But  what  could  have  prompted  him 
to  do  such  a  thing? 


ACT  III  55 

Hopper — I'm  not  sure,  Governor,  but  I've  ob- 
served that  an  Italian  shooting  affray  usually  has 
a  woman  at  the  bottom  of  it.  Cherchez  la  femme, 
as  the  French  say.  In  this  case,  I  fancy  the  servant 
was  jealous  of  the  master,  for  the  shooting  occurred 
in  Orsini's  bedroom. 

Governor — No  doubt  you're  right.  It's  lucky 
you  caught  him  before  he  got  away. 

Hopper — (Still  watching  Marjorie.)  Yes,  we 
caught  him  all  right.  And  there  isn't  a  doubt  in 
the  world  but  that  he'll  hang  by  the  neck  for  what 
he  did. 

Marjorie — (Unable  to  control  herself.)  No — 
he  shan't — he  didn't  do  it.     I  know  he  didn't  do  it. 

Governor — Why,  Marjorie — what  do  you  mean  ? 

Marjorie — Oh,  Daddy — I  can't  stand  by  and  let 
this  man  die  for  something  he  didn't  do.  I  know 
you  wouldn't  want  me  to  do  that. 

Hopper — It  seems,  Governor,  that  your  daugh- 
ter can  throw  some  light  on  this  affair.  Of  course, 
it  is  her  duty  to  tell  whatever  she  may  know. 

Governor — (Reluctantly.)  Yes — tell  us  what 
you  know,  Marjorie. 

Marjorie — It  was  not  the  servant.  It  was  that 
woman  who  shot  Orsini,  and,  afterwards,  she  shot 
and  killed  herself. 

Governor — But  how  do  you  know  ? 

Marjorie — Because  I  was  there. 


56  NOTHING  ELSE  TO  DO 

Governor — Good  God,  what  were  you  doing 
there ! 

Hopper — Let  me  ask  a  few  questions,  Governor, 
if  you  don't  mind.  Will  you  please  tell  us,  Miss 
Burton,  what  led  up  to  the  shooting. 

Marjorie — There  is  not  much  to  tell.  Orsini 
and  I  were  talking  together  in  his  living  room.  We 
neither  of  us  knew  that  anyone  else  was  in  the  apart- 
ment. We  heard  a  noise  in  the  next  room.  He  went 
to  see  what  it  was.  As  he  entered,  a  shot  was  fired 
and  he  fell.  A  moment  later  there  was  a  second 
shot  followed  by  a  woman's  scream.  I  went  in  and 
found  them  both  dead. 

Hopper — You  think  that  the  woman  shot  Orsini 
and  then  herself? 

Marjorie — Yes. 

Hopper — She  couldn't  have  done  it,  Miss  Burton. 
She  was  shot  in  the  temple  and  must  have  died  in- 
stantly. The  pistol,  with  which  she  was  shot,  was 
found  on  Orsini's  dresser,  ten  feet  away. 

Marjorie — Yes — I  remember — I  picked  it  up 
and  put  it  there.    I  don't  know  why. 

Hopper — Not  a  very  likely  story,  Miss  Burton. 
Besides,  when  a  jealous  woman  makes  up  her  mind 
to  shoot  someone,  she  generally  shoots  her  rival  in- 
stead of  herself. 

Governor — What  in  hell  are  you  driving  at, 
Hopper  ? 


ACT  III  57 

Hopper — I'm  very  sorry,  Governor,  but  you  can 
see  for  yourself  how  this  thing  stands.  The  motive 
of  this  murder  was  jealousy — that's  perfectly  plain. 
Your  daughter  and  this  other  woman  were  both  in 
Orsini's  apartment.  They  were  both  in  love  with 
Orsini.  Orsini  and  the  other  woman  are  shot,  and 
the  pistol  is  found  in  a  position  which  indicates  that 
the  shooting  was  done  by  a  third  person.  What's  the 
inference  ? 

Marjorie — It's  not  true.  I  didn't  do  it — I  had 
no  reason  to  do  it.     I  was  not  in  love  with  Orsini. 

Hopper — Come,  come,  Miss  Burton — you're  only 
making  things  worse.  A  young  woman  in  your  posi- 
tion doesn't  go  alone  with  a  man  to  his  apartment  if 
she's  not  in  love  with  him. 

Marjorie — O,  Daddy,  Daddy,  how  terrible! 

Hopper — I  am  very  much  afraid,  Governor  that 
I  shall  have  to  report  that  it  was  your  daughter 
who — 

Governor — No,  no,  Hopper — you  must  be 
wrong.  You  are  simply  jumping  at  conclusions. 
You  must  take  more  time.  A  moment  ago  you 
were  sure  that  it  was  Orsini's  servant. 

Hopper — {Smiling.)  You  are  wrong  there, 
Governor.     I  knew  all  this  before  I  came. 

Marjorie — How  could  you? 

Hopper — You  see,  Miss  Burton,  you  left  in  some- 
what of  a  hurry,  and  forgot  to  take  your  bag  with 


58  NOTHING  ELSE  TO  DO 

you  (showing  her  the  bag.)  It  has  some  of  your 
calling  cards  in  it. 

Governor — Good  heavens. 

Hopper — So  you  see,  Governor,  that  I  am  quite 
prepared  to  conclude  that  it  was  your  daughter 
who  fired  those  shots. 

Governor — I  don't  believe  it,  Hopper.  It  isn't 
true.     It  was  that  other  woman. 

Hopper — (Who  from  now  on  watches  the  Gov- 
ernor intently.)  Nevertheless,  Governor,  it  was 
your  daughter  who  fired  those  shots. 

Governor — What  do  you  mean? 

Hopper — You  haven't  asked  who  the  other 
woman  was,  Governor.  You  remember  you  wanted 
me  to  find  out  for  you.  Have  you  lost  your  curi- 
osity on  that  point? 

Governor — Well  ? 

Hopper — It's  a  small  world,  Governor,  for  the 
fact  is  that  the  other  woman  was  your  other  daugh- 
ter, Theresa  Lugioni. 

Governor — That's  an  infernal  lie.  I  have  no 
other  daughter.     I  know  no  one  by  that  name. 

Hopper — I  don't  blame  you,  Governor.  I'd  pro- 
test too  if  I  were  in  your  place.  But  there's  no  use. 
You  see  /  know. 

Governor — I  don't  know  what  you  are  driving 
at,  Hopper,  but  you're  all  wrong.  You  don't  know 
what  you're  talking  about. 


ACT  III  59 

Hopper — No  use,  Governor.  You  see  after  this 
shooting,  I  went  over  and  broke  the  news  to  Theresa 
Lugioni,  the  girl's  mother.  Of  course,  she  was  a  bit 
excited  and  talked  rather  freely.  Naturally  she 
thinks  it  was  your  other  daughter — Miss  Burton 
here — who  did  the  shooting.  And  she  doesn't  pro- 
pose to  have  you  shift  the  blame  to  your  first  daugh- 
ter— her  daughter — you  see.  Rather  a  delicate  situ- 
ation you  find  yourself  in,  eh  Governor? 

Governor — What  sort  of  a  hound  are  you,  Hop- 
per? Who  are  you,  and  what  do  you  want  in  this 
house  ? 

Hopper — A  very  timely  question,  Governor.  I'd 
better  tell  you.  It  may  relieve  the  situation.  The 
fact  is,  that  I  am  in  charge  of  the  secret  service  de- 
partment of  the  State  Central  Committee  of  the 
opposite  political  party.  That  committee  would  like 
to  see  a  new  governor  elected  this  fall.  And 
they  would  feel  very  much  relieved  if  you  were 
out  of  the  race.  Perhaps  that's  all  I  should  say. 
Think  it  over.  If  you  want  to  see  me  tomorrow, 
send  for  me  before  noon.  Up  to  that  time,  I  will 
keep  this  little  complication  to  myself.  Good  night, 
Governor. 

{He  goes.  The  Governor  and  Marjorie  stare  at 
each  other,  both  too  astonished  for  a  moment  to 
speak. ) 

Governor — {Finally.)      Good   God,    Marjorie, 


60  NOTHING  ELSE  TO  DO 

what  have  you  done? 

Marjorie — Oh,  Daddy,  I'm  so  sorry.  But  I 
didn't  do  what  he  says  I  did.  You  must  believe  I 
didn't. 

Governor — Don't  be  a  fool,  Marjorie.  I  know 
you  couldn't  have  done  that.  Hopper  knows  it, 
himself.  But  these  devils  have  got  me  in  a  trap  and 
are  going  to  keep  me  there.  That's  the  worst  of  it. 
And  you're  to  blame  for  it,  too.  It  all  comes  of 
your  having  made  an  insufferable  fool  of  yourself. 

Marjorie — But,  Daddy,  I  couldn't  possibly  have 
supposed  that  anything  like  this — 

Governor — You  had  no  business  to  go  there — 
that's  the  point.  What  in  heaven's  name  made  you 
do  such  a  thing? 

Marjorie — {Coldly.)  I  went  there  because  I 
had  nothing  else  to  do — that's  why. 

Governor — Don't  be  impudent,  Marjorie,  and 
don't  make  a  fool  of  yourself.  What  do  you  mean 
by  that? 

Marjorie — Just  what  I  said — I  had  nothing  else 
to  do.  I  was  bored  to  extinction  with  my  life.  I 
wanted  to  change  it,  and  to  do  something  serious 
and  worth  while.  You  wouldn't  let  me — so  I  had 
to  amuse  myself  as  best  I  could. 

Governor — You  mean  that  you  went  alone  with 
that  man  to  his  apartment  merely  to  amuse  your- 
self? 


ACT  III  61 

Marjorie — Yes. 

Governor — Were  you  not  in  love  with  him? 

Marjorie — No. 

Governor — Good  God,  Marjorie — you  put  your- 
self on  a  level  with  a  woman  of  the  streets. 

Marjorie — {With  rising  anger.)  You'd  better 
not  say  that — you  are  not  in  a  position  to  throw 
stones. 

Governor — What's  that? 

Marjorie — I  say  you  are  not  in  a  position  to 
throw  stones  at  me,  and  I  mean  it.  What  happened 
today  was  no  more  my  fault  than  yours.  In  fact 
it  was  much  less  my  fault  than  yours. 

Governor — I'll  not  permit  you  to  say  such  things 
to  me. 

Marjorie — I'll  say  whatever  I  think. 

Governor — Then,  I'll  teach  you  discipline,  you 
impudent —  {He  strikes  her  in  the  face.  Marjorie 
screams.  Instantly  the  lights  are  extinguished,  leav- 
ing the  stage  in  utter  darkness.  A  moment  later 
the  lights  come  on  very  gradually,  disclosing  a  scene 
identical  with  that  disclosed  at  the  end  of  the  first 
act.  The  Governor  is  asieep  in  his  chair.  Jane  is 
across  the  table,  seated  under  the  lamp,  reading. 
As  the  last  lights  come  on,  the  Governor  awakens 
with  a  start,  from  his  dream.) 

Governor — Good  God — where  am  I? 

Jane — {Putting  aside   her  book.)      What's  the 


62  NOTHING  ELSE  TO  DO 

matter,  John — are  you  ill? 

Governor — No — I've  had  a  frightful  dream 
about  Marjorie.    I  can  scarcely  believe  it  wasn't  real. 

Jane — Serves  you  right  for  going  to  sleep  over  my 
lecture. 

Governor — You  did  lecture  me  to  sleep,  didn't 
you  ?  I  think  that  must  have  caused  the  trouble, 
for  I  dreamed  of  the  very  thing  you  were  lecturing 
me  about. 

Jane — I  hope  your  dream  did  you  more  good  than 
my  lecture. 

Governor — Well,  your  lecture  put  me  to  sleep, 
but  my  dream  gave  me  a  very  rude  awakening. 

Jane — Perhaps  that  is  what  you  needed. 

Governor — Perhaps  it  was.  How  long  have  I 
been  asleep? 

Jane — About  two  hours,  I  think. 

Governor — Marjorie  returned? 

Jane — Not  yet. 

Governor — Heard  anything  from   Bob? 

Jane — No. 

{Bob  enters.) 

Bob — Hello,  Governor. 

Governor — Speak  of  the  devil — 

Bob — I  couldn't  wait  to  be  announced — I've  bully 
news  for  you! 

Jane — Politics  ? 

Bob — Yes. 


ACT  III  63 

Jane — Then  I'm  off.  I've  heard  enough  to  last 
me  the  rest  of  my  life. 

(Exit  Jane.) 

Governor — Well,  Bob? 

Bob — Wonderful  news,  Governor.  Sounds  like 
a  detective  play  in  four  acts. 

Governor — Let's  have  it. 

Bob — Well,  as  I  left  the  house,  I  happened  to  see 
Hopper  board  a  car  at  the  corner.  I  had  my  motor, 
so  I  followed  the  car  and  watched  for  Hopper  to 
get  off.    I  followed  him  to  Jim  Sullivan's  house. 

Governor — Then  he  must  belong  to  Public  Utili- 
ties. 

Bob — Yes.  That's  the  first  curtain.  Now  for 
Act  2. 

Governor — Go  on. 

Bob — Having  seen  Hopper  go  from  here  to  Sulli- 
van's house,  I  couldn't  get  away  from  the  notion 
that  Sullivan  had  something  to  do  with  that  anony- 
mous letter.  Then  I  thought  of  Marjorie's  de- 
tective work.  It  occurred  to  me  that  a  month  or 
so  ago,  Sullivan  had  written  a  letter  to  the  District 
Attorney's  office,  relative  to  appearing  as  a  witness 
before  the  grand  jury.  I  went  to  the  office  and  got 
the  letter.  Then  I  compared  it  with  the  anony- 
mous letter  which  you  received  tonight.  Well,  what 
do  you  think? 

Governor — Same  typewriter  ? 


64  NOTHING  ELSE  TO  DO 

Bob — Not  the  least  doubt  in  the  world.  Second 
curtain. 

Governor — Bravo!     It  becomes  interesting. 

Bob — Act  three  commenced  with  a  period  of  medi- 
tation. Then  by  an  industrious  use  of  the  telephone, 
I  found  out  the  name  and  telephone  number  of 
Sullivan's  private  secretary.  Then  I  called  her  on 
the  phone,  and,  pretending  to  be  one  of  Sullivan's 
understrappers,  I  said  that  Mr.  Sullivan  wanted  to 
know  whether  she  had  destroyed  her  shorthand  notes 
of  the  letter  Sullivan  had  dictated  to  the  Governor. 
What  do  you  think  of  that — eh,  Governor? 

Governor — Did  it  work? 

Bob — Like  a  charm.  Girl  said  the  notes  had  been 
destroyed  as  Sullivan  had  directed.  End  of  Act 
three.    How  do  you  like  the  play,  Governor? 

Governor — Great!     Go  on. 

Bob — All  right.  Up  goes  the  curtain — Act  four 
— scene,  Jim  Sullivan's  library.  Present,  the  big 
boss  in  person.  Enter  the  United  States  District 
Attorney.    How's  that  for  a  setting? 

Governor — Wonderful — what  happened  ? 

Bob — Well,  I  went  in  and  put  my  cards  face  up 
on  the  table.  There  was  no  use  trying  to  fool 
Sullivan.  I  couldn't  have  done  it.  He's  too  smart. 
Besides,  I  didn't  have  to.  I  just  told  him  what  I 
had  and  what  I  intended  to  do  if  he  didn't  keep  his 
mouth  shut. 


ACT  III  65 

Governor — What  did  you  say  you  would  do. 

Bob — (Smiling.)  I  told  him  that,  for  the  pres- 
ent, my  knowledge  about  his  correspondence  was 
purely  personal — not  official.  But  I  said  that  if 
anyone  attempted  to  drag  your  personal  affairs  into 
this  campaign,  my  friend,  the  United  States  Dis- 
trict Attorney,  would  send  him  to  the  penitentiary 
for  using  the  United  States  mails  with  intent  to 
blackmail. 

Governor — Good  heavens,  Bob,  did  you  say 
that? 

Bob — Of  course,  I  did.  And  the  big  boss  was  so 
good  that  he  positively  fed  from  the  hand. 

Governor — You  don't  mean  that  he  admitted 
writing  the  letter. 

Bob — Of  course  not — he's  too  smart  for  that. 
But  he  said  (imitating  Sullivan)  that  he  did  not 
believe  in  making  campaign  issues  out  of  personali- 
ties, and  that  he  would  throw  the  weight  of  his 
influence  against  any  such  attempt  in  the  present 
campaign.  That's  all  there  is  to  it,  Governor — you 
may  forget  all  about  that  anonymous  letter. 

Governor — I  can  never  thank  you  enough  for 
this,  Bob. 

Bob — Stuff  and  nonsense.  Don't  thank  me — 
thank  Marjorie.  She  furnished  the  brains,  and  I 
merely  did  the  rough  work.  That  daughter  of 
your9  is  wasting  her  talents,  Governor.    You  should 


66  NOTHING  ELSE  TO  DO 

let  her  study  law,  and  watch  for  developments. 

Governor — Are  you  serious,  Bob? 

Bob — Of  course,  I  am. 

Governor — You  know  those  two  have  been 
working  along  that  line — trying  to  get  me  to  con- 
sent— but  I  have  held  back. 

Bob— Why? 

Governor — Because  I  was  an  old  fossil,  I  sup- 
pose. But  now,  for  some  reason  or  other,  I  am 
beginning  to  see  things  in  a  different  light. 

Bob — You  might  as  well  come  to  it,  Governor. 
You  know  women  always  have  their  own  way  in 
the  end.  And,  when  you  have  to  give  in,  it's  so 
much  better  to  do  it  gracefully — as  Sullivan  did. 

{Enter  Marjorie.) 

Marjorie — Hello,  Bob — so  glad  you  stayed. 
Now  let's  talk  some  more  about  the  letter. 

Bob — No  use,  Marjorie.  The  detective  work  is 
all  over,  and  you  are  the  heroine  of  the  day. 

Marjorie — What  do  you  mean? 

Bob — Tell  her  the  story,  Governor. 

Governor — Well,  as  I  understand  it,  Bob  strong- 
ly suspected  who  wrote  the  letter,  and  you  gave  him 
a  means  of  confirming  his  suspicions.  He  got  an- 
other letter,  known  to  have  been  written  by  the 
person  suspected,  and  found  by  comparison  that 
the  two  letters  were  written  on  the  same  machine. 
Presto — the  discovery  was  made. 


ACT  HI  67 

Marjorie — Who  was  it? 

Bob — Promise  not  to  tell? 

Marjorie — Of  course. 

Bob — Jim  Sullivan. 

Marjorie — You  don't  mean  it.  And,  are  you 
going  to  send  him  to  prison,  Bob? 

Bob — Better  than  that,  Marjorie. 

Marjorie — How  ? 

Bob — I've  had  a  talk  with  him,  and — in  a  quiet 
way  you  understand — he's  going  to  work  for  your 
father's  re-election. 

Marjorie — Oh,  bully — I  could  hug  you,  Bob. 
You're  wonderful. 

Bob — Not  a  bit  of  it,  Marjorie.  You  are  entitled 
to  the  credit  for  this  discovery. 

Governor — Well,  I'll  leave  you  two  to  talk 
it  out.  I'm  going  to  the  study  for  a  moment,  and 
then  to  bed.    Good  night,  Marjorie. 

Marjorie — Good  night,  Dad. 

(She  kisses  him  good  night.) 

Governor — I've  a  secret  to  whisper  to  Bob  be- 
fore I  go.    Do  you  mind,  Marjorie? 

Marjorie — I  think  you  might  tell  me  about  it. 

(The  Governor  and  Bob  walk  together  to  the 
door  where  they  stop  and  whisper  together  for  a 
moment.     They  are  both  laughing.) 

Governor — (Leaving.)     Good  night,  Bob. 

Bob — Good  night,  Governor. 


68  NOTHING  ELSE  TO  DO 

Governor — (Calling  back  to  Marjorie.)  Do  you 
want  to  know  the  secret,  Marjorie? 

Marjorie — Yes. 

Governor — Ask  Bob. 

(The  Governor  has  gone.) 

Marjorie — Well,  out  with  it,  Bob. 

Bob — The  truth  is  the  Governor  and  I  have  been 
talking  about  you. 

Marjorie — So  it  seems. 

Bob — I  was  saying  to  the  Governor  that  one  hav- 
ing such  keen  talents  as  yours  is  wasting  her  time  on 
anything  short  of  a  professional  career. 

Marjorie — Don't  laugh  at  me,  Bob. 

Bob — And  the  Governor  quite  agreed  with  me. 

Marjorie — Now  I  know  you're  laughing  at  me. 

Bob — And  I  was  making  application  for  your 
services  as  a  law  clerk — with  the  understanding,  of 
course,  that  you  should  have  a  partnership  later  on. 

Marjorie — Why  are  you  teasing  me  this  way? 

Bob — And  the  Governor  thought  that  there 
ought  to  be  a  partnership  at  once — a  sort  of  pre- 
liminary partnership — you  know. 

Marjorie — How  silly ! 

Bob^— And  I  quite  agreed  with  him  on  the  point. 
You  see  we  are  absolutely  of  one  mind. 

Marjorie — Why  are  you  telling  me  this,  Bob? 

Bob — Because  it's  true.  Didn't  you  ask  me  this 
evening  to  use  my  influence  to  get  your  father  to 


ACT  III  69 

consent  to  let  you  study  law?  Well,  Fve  done  it — 
that's  all. 

Marjorie — Oh,  Bob,  I  can't  believe  you. 

Bob — Then  go  to  the  study  and  ask  the  Governor. 

{Without  saying  a  word,  she  goes.  A  moment 
later  she  returns  and  goes  to  Bob,  taking  him  by 
the  lapels  of  his  coat.) 

Marjorie — (Simply.)     It's  true,  Bob. 

Bob — Of  course  it's  true. 

Marjorie — And  I  am  really  going  to  do  some- 
thing with  my  life. 

Bob — To  work  hard — 

Marjorie — To  make  myself  worthy — 

Bob — Then  it's  to  be  a  partnership? 

Marjorie — Yes. 

(He  kisses  her  forehead.) 

CURTAIN 


CAUGHT 
A  Play  in  One  Act 


CAST 


A  Man. 
A  Burglar. 


Caught 


Upon  the  rise  of  the  curtain  is  diclosed  a  room 
in  total  darkness,  except  for  the  moonlight  which 
shines  through  a  window  at  the  back  of  the  stage  on 
the  right.  A  moment  later,  the  form  of  a  man  is 
seen  entering  the  room  through  the  window.  After 
he  enters,  he  flashes  an  electric  pocket  lamp,  by  the 
aid  of  which  he  surveys  the  various  objects  contained 
in  the  room.  The  room  is  large,  containing  a  table 
in  the  centre,  and  a  number  of  comfortable  chairs. 
There  is  a  telephone  on  the  table.  There  is  also  a 
chest  of  drawers,  and  a  sideboard,  and  in  a  corner, 
a  small  safe  about  three  feet  high.  In  the  other 
corner,  on  the  left,  is  a  bed  in  which  a  man  lies  asleep. 
With  the  occasional  aid  of  the  lamp,  the  intruder, 
who  is  evidently  a  burglar,  goes  through  the  chest 
of  drawers  and  sideboard,  then  sits  on  the  floor  in 
front  of  the  safe,  which  he  tries  to  open.  In  doing 
this,  he  makes  a  slight  noise,  which  awakens  the 
man  in  bed. 

Man — Who's  there? 

( There  is  an  absolute  silence  for  a  moment,  after 

which  the  man  in  bed  sits  up  and  turns  an  electric 

switch,  which  illuminates  the  stage.     Thereupon  the 

burglar  jumps  to  his  feet  and  covers  the  man  in  bed 

75 


76  CAUGHT 

with  his  pistol.) 

Burglar — Don't  make  a  noise,  or  I'll  shoot. 

Man — Very  well.  I'm  no  fool.  What  do  you 
want? 

Burglar — I  want  money. 

Man — You've  tackled  the  wrong  place.  This  is 
no  bank. 

Burglar — We'll  see  about  that — get  up. 

Man — Very  well,  if  you  insist. 

(He  gets  up  and  steps  into  his  slippers  at  the  side 
of  his  bed.) 

Man — I'll  put  on  my  bathrobe  if  you  don't  mind. 
It's  a  bit  cool. 

(He  reaches  for  his  bathrobe,  which  hangs  over 
the  front  of  the  bed.) 

Burglar — Wait  a  moment — back  up. 

(Throughout  the  scene  the  burglar  has  kept  the 
man  covered  with  the  pistol.  The  man  backs  away 
as  directed.  The  burglar  takes  the  bathrobe  and 
feels  the  pockets.     Then  he  tosses  it  to  the  man.) 

Burglar — All  right — put  it  on. 

(The  man  puts  on  the  bathrobe  over  his  pajamas. 
He  is  evidently  more  comfortable.) 

Man — (Perfectly  at  ease  and  good  humoredly.) 
Well,  what  next? 

Burglar — Open  the  safe. 

Man — So  that's  it.  I  see  you've  been  through 
the  rest  of  the  furniture.    Didn't  you  find  anything 


CAUGHT  77 

you  wanted? 

Burglar — No. 

Man — That's  singular.  It  isn't  so  bad,  you 
know. 

Burglar — Open  the  safe — first  pull  down  that 
window  and  shade. 

Man — Certainly. 

(He  puts  down  the  window  and  shade  as  directed, 
then  throws  a  cushion  on  the  floor  in  front  of  the 
safe  and  sits  down  on  it  preparatory  to  working  the 
combination.  The  burglar  is  standing  about  fifteen 
feet  away — pistol  in  hand.) 

Man — (Turning  affably  to  Burglar.)  It  may 
take  me  sometime  to  open  it.  I  haven't  tried  it  lately. 
Wont  you  sit  down  and  make  yourself  comfortable. 
(He  motions  to  an  easy  chair.) 

Burglar — (Thawing  slightly  and  smiling.) 
Don't  care  if  I  do. 

(He  sits  down,  and  for  the  first  time,  lowers  the 
point  of  his  pistol.  The  man  works  a  while  at  the 
combination,  then  turns  to  the  burglar.) 

Man — (Very  good  humoredly.)  Say,  this  is  too 
good  to  keep  to  myself.  Would  you  mind  my  tell- 
ing you  the  joke  before  I  open  it. 

Burglar — What's  the  matter — is  it  empty? 

Man — Not  much;  it's  full  of  treasure — jewels, 
gold  and  silver;  that's  what  makes  it  so  funny. 

Burglar — What's  the  joke. 


78  CAUGHT 

Man — It's  this.  I  took  out  a  burglar  policy  day 
before  yesterday ;  didn't  want  it  at  all ;  agent  literally 
forced  it  down  my  throat,  and  now,  Oho,  what 
luck! 

Burglar — Humph!  I  aint  such  a  bad  fellow — 
am  I? 

Man — Bad!  I  should  say  not.  Wait  until  I 
tell  you  the  rest  of  the  story.  You  haven't  heard 
the  real  point  of  the  joke. 

Burglar — {Interested.)     Go  on;  let's  have  it. 

Man — You  see — this  junk  in  here — I  got  it  from 
my  aunt;  she  willed  it  to  me  when  she  died,  and 
requested  that  I  keep  it  to  remember  her  by,  and 
I've  done  it  out  of  a  sort  of  sentiment,  although  I've 
wished  time  and  again  that  I  could  cash  it  in  for 
what  it  was  worth;  and  here's  where  I  do  it  with 
a  clear  conscience.    Oh,  this  is  rich. 

Burglar — What's  the  stuff  worth? 

Man — Fully  two  thousand,  I  should  say;  at  any 
rate,  that's  what  the  insurance  company's  going  to 
pay  for  it.  And  say,  old  man,  maybe  you  think  I 
don't  need  the  money. 

Burglar — Humph!     I'm  glad  to  help  you  out. 

Man — You're  doing  it  all  right.  I  probably 
shouldn't  have  had  the  heart  to  sell  this  stuff,  and 
wouldn't  have  gotten  full  value  for  it  if  I  had;  but 
now, — well,  your  visit  is  providential;  that's  all 
there  is  to  it. 


CAUGHT  79 

Burglar — Well,  let's  lamp  the  swag. 

Man — What's  that?  Oh,  you  mean  you  want 
to  see  it,  of  course. 

(He  turns  back  to  the  safe  and  works  the  combina- 
tion, then  rises  and  opens  the  safe  door.) 

Burglar — (Rising.)  Now  you  stand  over  there 
while  I  see  what's  inside. 

Man — Oh,  you  don't  trust  me — after  my  feeling 
so  friendly — that  is  unkind — you  ought  to  be  asham- 
ed of  yourself. 

Burglar — Well,  get  it  out  yourself,  but  mind — 
don't  try  any  tricks. 

Man — Certainly  not.  I  have  more  interest  in 
seeing  you  get  safely  away  with  this  stuff  than  you 
have  yourself.  Sit  over  here  by  the  table  and  I'll 
get  it  out  for  you. 

(The  burglar,  somewhat  suspicious,  takes  a  seat 
at  the  table  facing  the  safe.  He  keeps  a  firm  grip 
on  his  pistol.) 

Man — Here's  the  whole  outfit  in  a  big  box. 
(Setting  box  down  on  the  table  in  front  of  the 
burglar.)     Take  off  the  lid  and  have  a  look  at  it. 

(The  burglar  cautiously  takes  off  the  lid  and 
looks  inside  the  box.  Manifestly,  from  his  looks, 
he  is  not  disappointed  in  its  contents.  He  puts  in 
his  hand  and  fingers  the  various  articles  caress- 
ingly.) 

Burglar — You   was   telling   the   truth — wasn't 


8o  CAUGHT 


you? 


Man — Of  course  I  was ;  did  you  doubt  it  ? 

Burglar — I  did  at  first,  but  now  I  guess  you're 
on  the  square. 

Man — Certainly  I'm  on  the  square.  What  are 
you  going  to  wrap  that  stuff  up  in. 

Burglar — I  don't  know;  what  have  you  got? 

Man — (Looking  about.)  Let's  see  (looks  to- 
ward bed)  how  would  a  pillow  case  do? 

Burglar — Fine. 

Man — I'll  get  you  one.  (Starts  toward  bed — is 
about  to  pick  up  a  pillow.) 

Burglar — (Remembers  himself,  rises  hastily  and 
points  pistol.)  Here — come  away  from  there; 
what's  under  that  pillow? 

Man — (Turning  about.)  Now  that  if  unkind — 
you  are  the  most  suspicious  person  I  ever  met.  Come 
get  your  own  pillow  case. 

(Burglar  goes  and  takes  pillow  from  bed.  There 
is  nothing  underneath.) 

Burglar — I  beg  your  pardon.  I  thought — pos- 
sibly— 

Man — I  know  what  you  thought — you  thought 
I  had  a  pistol  under  my  pillow.  Well,  I  haven't 
one  about  the  place.  If  I  had,  I'd  give  it  to  you  and 
let  the  insurance  company  pay  me  for  it. 

Burglar — I  guess  you  are  all  right  after  all. 

Man — Of  course  I'm  all  right.    Now  take  a  look 


AUGHT  81 


CAT 


in  the  safe  to  see  that  I  haven't  cheated  you  out  of 
anything. 

Burglar — {Hesitates.)     I  guess  it's  all  right. 

Man — Don't  take  my  word  for  it — look  for 
yourself. 

( The  burglar,  rather  ashamed  of  himself,  goes  and 
looks  into  the  safe.) 

Man — Did  I  get  everything? 

Burglar — It's  all  right. 

Man — Fine — now  do  up  your  stuff  in  your  pil- 
low case. 

(Burglar  goes  to  table — transfers  contents  of  box 
to  pillow  case.) 

Man — (Going  to  dresser.)  Here's  a  piece  of 
cord  to  tie  it  up  with. 

Burglar — Thanks. 

(Burglar  ties  up  package.) 

Man — What  else  may  I  do  for  you? 

Burglar — Thanks — I  think  that's  about  all. 

Man — You  know — possibly  I  may  have  a  little 
change  in  my  trouser's  pocket. 

Burglar — I  guess  not —  (hesitates)  is  that  cover- 
ed by  your  insurance? 

Man — Certainly — everything's   covered. 

Burglar — Then  maybe  I  might  as  well  take  it 
along. 

Man — All  right — I'll  get  it  for  you — it's  in  the 
closet. 


82  CAUGHT 

{He  goes  to  the  closet.  The  burglar  says  nothing 
but  watches  him  suspiciously,  still  holding  his  pistol.) 

Man — {Returning  from  closet.)  Here  you  are 
— not  much  of  it  I  fancy.  Let's  see  {counting  money 
on  table) — twenty-five  dollars  and  twenty-five  cents. 
Better  leave  me  the  quarter  to  get  downtown  with 
in  the  morning. 

Burglar — Sure — take  what  you  want. 

Man — {Taking  quarter.)  Thanks  awfully — 
this  will  be  plenty,  I'm  sure.  Now  what  else  may 
I  do  for  you? 

Burglar — {Pocketing  money.)  Nothing  at  all 
— you've  treated  me  white  all  right.  I  ain't  exactly 
used  to  it.     Makes  me  feel  queer. 

Man — Nonsense — you're  doing  more  for  me  than 
I  am  for  you.  Now  before  you  go,  what  do  you 
say  to  a  bite  to  eat  and  a  drop  of  drink.  I  don't 
know  how  you  feel,  but  I'm  hungry,  and  as  thirsty 
as  a  camel. 

Burglar — {Thoroughly  delighted.*)  Blow  me — 
you  do  treat  a  fellow  white — don't  mind  if  I  do. 

Man — All  right,  come  along  to  the  ice  box — 
bring  your  lamp  and  let's  see  what  we  can  find. 

{They  go  out  and  presently  return  with  a  plate 
of  cookies,  a  couple  of  siphon  bottles  and  a  bowl  of 
ice,  which  they  place  on  the  table.  The  man  then 
gets  a  decanter  of  whiskey  from  the  sideboard  which 
he  also  places  on  the  table.     They  draw  up  a  couple 


CAUGHT  83 

of  chairs  and  sit  down.  The  burglar  puts  his  pistol 
down  on  the  edge  of  the  table  at  his  right,  which 
is  toward  the  audience.) 

Man — I'm  sorry  I  couldn't  find  more  to  eat. 
However,  I  have  some  extra  fine  old  whiskey.  Do 
you  like  Bourbon? 

Burglar — Sure. 

Man — {Preparing  a  rather  stiff  highball.)  Try 
this. 

Burglar — Thanks. 

Man — {Who  has  also  prepared  one  for  himself.) 
Well — here's  to  your  safe  getaway. 

Burglar — And  here's  hopin'  you  get  your  in- 
surance money. 

Man — Good. 

{They  both  drink.  The  burglar  consumes  his 
highball  to  the  last  drop.) 

Burglar — {Putting  down  glass.)  I  was  dry  all 
right. 

Man — So  was  I — let's  fill  up. 

{He  replenishes  the  highballs.) 

Burglar — That's  fine  liquor  you've  got. 

Man — Glad  you  like  it — I'll  give  you  a  bottle  to 
take  along  if  you  say  so. 

Burglar — Blow  me  now — honest — you're  a  brick. 

Man — Not  a  bit — charge  it  to  the  insurance  com- 
pany. 

Burglar — Ha — ha — ha — that's   a   good   joke — 


84  CAUGHT 

ha — ha — 

Man — Have  a  cake  on  the  insurance  company. 

Burglar — Ha — ha — sure. 

{He  takes  a  cake  and  eats  it — then  takes  a  drink. 
Throughout  the  conversation  which  follows,  the 
man  and  burglar  continue  to  eat  cakes  and  drink 
highballs.  As  soon  as  one  highball  is  finished,  the 
man  promptly  refills  the  empty  glass.) 

Man — Let  me  ask  you — how  long  have  you  been 
following  this  profession  of  yours? 

Burglar — All  my  life — off  and  on. 

Man — What  do  you  do  when  you're  off? 

Burglar — Odd  jobs — on  the  detective  force  at 
times. 

Man — Gad — that's  pretty  cool. 

Burglar — Yes — you  see  it's  a  good  experience — 
you  learn  how  they  play  the  game  on  the  other  side 
— then  you  get  a  good  reputation  that  may  come  in 
handy. 

Man — I  see — have  you  ever  been  caught? 

Burglar — No — only  the  raw  ginks  are  caught — 
them  as  don't  know  both  sides  of  the  game. 

Man — Then  if  you  know  both  sides  of  the  game, 
you  can  feel  safe. 

Burglar — Sure. 

Man — How  did  you  happen  to  get  into  this  par- 
ticular line  of  business? 

Burglar — Brought  up  in  it  as  a  boy,  and  never 


CAUGHT  85 

learned  anything  else,  except  the  detective  business. 

Man — Do  you  like  it — your  profession  I  mean? 

Burglar — Not  much — I'd  rather  be  a  bank  presi- 
dent all  right.    What's  your  business? 

Man — I  practice  law  for  a  living. 

Burglar — Lawyer  eh, — well,  I'd  even  rather  be 
in  your  business  than  mine,  if  I  had  my  way  about  it. 

Man — Thanks  awfully. 

Burglar — I  don't  know  that  I'd  like  it  so  well, 
but  it's  a  damn  sight  safer. 

Man — Yes,  that  is  an  advantage. 

Burglar — The  trouble  with  me  is  I've  never 
had  any  education.  It  takes  education  to  make  an 
honest  living  these  days.    I  never  had  a  fair  chance. 

Man — Why  don't  you  go  back  to  the  detective 
business?     You  can  make  an  honest  living  at  that. 

Burglar — You  don't  know  the  detective  busi- 
ness. Those  fellows  are  the  biggest  crooks  unhung. 
I'd  rather  make  less  money  and  be  decent. 

Man — So  you  feel  that  your  own  business  is  more 
respectable  than  the  detective  business. 

Burglar — I  know  it  is. 

Man— Why? 

Burglar — Detectives  are  not  on  the  square. 
They're  paid  to  do  something,  and  they  double-cross 
the  men  they  get  their  pay  from.  As  for  me,  I  work 
for  nobody.  I'm  paid  by  nobody.  I  don't  pretend 
to  be  anything  I'm  not.     I  play  my  own  game,  and 


86  CAUGHT 

make  my  own  rules.  I  pick  up  a  bit  of  swag  when 
I  can  get  it,  and  I  take  my  chances  on  paying  damn 
high  for  it.  I  fight  a  single-handed  fight  against  all 
of  you — with  all  your  money,  and  your  government, 
and  your  police,  and  your  penitentiaries.  It's  my 
nerve  and  my  wits  against  them  all.  Catch  me  if 
you  can.    That's  all  I've  got  to  say. 

Man — By  Gad,  old  man,  I  like  you — I  like  your 
point  of  view — I  wouldn't  have  missed  this  for 
anything.    Have  another  cake. 

(He  pushes  the  plate  of  cakes  over  toward  the 
edge  of  the  table  on  the  burglar  s  left.  He  pushes 
it  too  far  and  it  falls  to  the  floor.  The  burglar 
reaches  over  to  pick  them  up  and  instantly  the  man 
appropriates  the  pistol  which  lay  at  the  burglar  s 
right.  When  the  burglar  resumes  a  sitting  posture, 
he  finds  himself  confronted  with  the  point  of  his 
own  weapon.) 

Man — Now  the  tables  are  turned — hands  up. 

Burglar — (Surprisingly  cool,  and  keeping  his 
hands  on  the  table.)  Never  mind  about  my  hands 
— you've  got  the  bead  on  me  all  right. 

Man — Yes,  and  I'm  going  to  keep  it.  And  you're 
going  to  sit  right  where  you  are  while  I  telephone 
for  the  police.    This  is  the  time  you're  caught. 

(The  man  reaches  for  the  telephone  which  sits  on 
the  table.) 

Burglar — Wait  a  minute. 


CAUGHT  87 

Man — Why? 

Burglar — If  you  turn  me  over  to  the  police — 
what  about  this  insurance? 

Man — Ha — that's  a  joke.  There  isn't  any  in- 
surance. I  invented  that  yarn  to  get  your  confidence. 
I  knew  if  I  could  get  your  confidence  I  could  get 
your  pistol,  and  I  did  it. 

Burglar — Say,  you're  a  smart  guy  all  right — 
I'd  like  to  have  a  lawyer  like  you — we'd  make  a 
team. 

Man — Nothing  doing, — now  I'm  going  to  call 
the  police. 

{He  pulls  the  telephone  to  him  with  his  left  hand, 
keeping  the  burglar  covered  with  the  pistol  in  his 
right.) 

Burglar — Wait  a  minute. 

Man — Nothing  doing. 

Burglar — {Commanding.)  I  tell  you  to  wait 
a  minute.  Now  listen  to  me.  You're  not  going  to 
call  any  police.  What  you  are  going  to  do  is  to  call 
a  taxi  to  take  me  away  from  here. 

Man — Gad,  you're  cool. 

Burglar — Why  shouldn't  I  be  cool.  You  think 
you're  a  smart  guy — don't  you?  Well,  you're  not 
half  as  smart  as  you  think  you  are. 

Man — Why  so? 

Burglar — Because  I  took  the  cartridges  out  of 
that  pistol  when  you  were  in  the  icebox.     It  aint 


88  CAUGHT 

loaded. 

Man — You  lie.  I'm  not  to  be  fooled  so  easily 
as  that. 

Burglar — Do  you  want  to  know  how  to  find  out 
whether  I'm  lying. 

Man — Yes. 

Burglar — Point  that  gun  at  my  head  and  pull 
the  trigger. 

Man — If  you  say  so,  I  will. 

Burglar — Go  on. 

{The  man  points  the  pistol  at  the  burglars  head. 
The  burglar  remains  perfectly  calm.  There  is  a 
pause. ) 

Burglar — Why  don't  you  shoot? 

Man — {Lowering  point  of  pistol.)  I  don't  want 
to.    But  I  must  admit  that  you  have  nerve  all  right. 

Burglar — I  tell  you  it  aint  loaded.  I  distrusted 
you  and  your  insurance  story  from  the  start.  So  I 
took  out  the  cartridges  and  put  the  pistol  within 
your  reach  to  see  what  you'd  do.  Do  you  think 
I'd  a  been  damn  fool  enough  to  leave  it  there  if 
it  was  loaded?  Now,  I'm  going  to  pack  my  kit 
and  go. 

{He  pushes  back  his  chair  and  rises  to  his  feet.) 

Man — {Pointing  pistol.)  You  take  two  steps 
and  I'll  shoot. 

Burglar —  ( Turning  and  walking  away. )  Shoot 
ahead.  » 


CAUGHT  89 

(The  man  pulls  the  trigger.  There  is  no  report. 
The  burglar  turns  immediately }  and  as  he  does  so, 
he  produces  from  his  pocket,  with  marvelous  rapid- 
ity, another  pistol,  with  which  he  covers  the  man.) 

Burglar — I  told  you  it  wasn't  loaded — but  this 
one  is.    Now  put  that  toy  gun  of  yours  on  the  table. 

(The  man,  whose  courage  has  completely  col- 
lapsed, obeys  mechanically.) 

Burglar — Now  back  up. 

(The  man  obeys  and  the  burglar  reaches  over 
and  picks  up  and  pockets  the  pistol.) 

Burglar — Now  take  that  telephone  and  call 
Central  426.  That's  the  taxi  station  at  the  corner. 
Give  your  name  and  address  and  say  you  want  a 
taxi  at  once  to  send  home  a  friend.  And  have 
them  charge  it  to  you. 

Man — I  like  your  nerve — is  your  own  gun 
loaded  ? 

Burglar — Put  your  hands  back  of  you.  (The 
man  obeys.)  Now  look  into  these  cylinders.  The 
bullets  are  almost  sticking  out.  (He  points  the 
pistol  at  the  mans  eyes  about  a  foot  from  his  face.) 

Man — (Nervous.)  I  can  see  them  all  right. 
Back  up.    I'll  call  your  taxi. 

(The  burglar  steps  back.  The  man  takes  the 
phone  and  orders  the  taxi  as  directed.) 

Burglar — Thanks.  Now,  I've  got  a  little  job 
to  do  while  I'm  waiting  for  the  taxi. 


go  -CAUGHT 

Man — What  is  it? 

Burglar — Give  me  another  piece  of  that  cord  I 
used  to  tie  up  the  swag.  (The  man  obeys.)  Now 
turn  your  back  and  give  me  your  hands.  ( The  man 
obeys  and  the  burglar  ties  his  wrists  together  behind 
his  back.) 

Burglar — Now,  I  think  that  closet  would  be  a 
good  place  for  you.    Get  in. 

(The  burglar  opens  the  closet  door  and  the  man 
goes  in.) 

Burglar — If  you  don't  mind,  I'll  take  this  coat 
and  hat — it  looks  better  than  mine.  (He  takes  the 
mans  overcoat  and  hat  from  the  closet.) 

Burglar — Now  no  noise — do  you  understand  ? 

(He  locks  the  man  in  the  closet,  takes  out  the  key 
and  tosses  it  under  the  bed.  He  then  goes  to  the* 
table  and  cuts  the  telephone  cord  with  a  knife  which 
he  takes  from  his  pocket.  He  then  takes  another 
drink.  As  he  finishes  there  is  heard  the  honk  of  a 
taxicab.  The  burglar  puts  on  the  mans  hat  and 
overcoat,  puts  his  own  cap  in  his  pocket,  puts  the 
package  of  jewelry  under  his  coat,  and  departs 
through  the  door.) 

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